#for the record I don’t drink caffeinated drinks

[queer-ragnelle]

THE HEADACHE MEDS WORKED BUT THEY HAVE CAFFEINE IN THEM SO I CAN’T SLEEP BUT I NEED TO OR I’LL GET A HEADACHE TOMORROW AFTERNOON THEN I’LL HAVE TO TAKE THE AFOREMENTIONED MEDS WITH CAFFEINE IN THEM AND BE UNABLE TO SLEEP SO THE NEXT DAY I’LL—

[delphi-shield]

— 「 BODYGUARD 」

lighter lorenz x reader — 2.2k summary: you're not his responsibility (not yet), but the guilt will eat him alive if he doesn't get your drunk ass home safely. content: lighter's pov, vomit, alcohol use, sappy lighter, jealous lighter beyonce's bodyguard is so him to me i can't do this anymore fellas

You call; he answers.

Some things in life are just that simple. Lighter tries to keep it that way for you.

You don’t normally call in the middle of the night, though. Lighter doesn’t mind – honest, he doesn’t. He had been tossing and turning since he laid down, passing the time by picking open old wounds, letting the regret sting the raw edges. It takes time to realize that the ringing isn’t in his ears, that he’s flat on his back in bed, not in the ring. He almost ignores the call, but when he rolls over and sees your name flickering back at him, he dives to pick up before the last ring.

You're silent on the other line, nothing but muffled talking and rustling against the microphone. All sorts of scenarios race through his head. You're stuck somewhere - trapped in a hollow, or cornered by a rival gang. His past has caught up to him, mired you in all this ick. His stomach turns.

Adrenaline works way better than caffeine and he’s known that for a while, but he wishes he wasn’t so familiar with the helplessness that grips him. Lighter sits up, swings his legs over the side of his bed, poised to run to you.

It’s nothing so serious. When you finally get your phone up to your face and greet him with a (too loud, too sloppy) ‘hey!’ it becomes painfully obvious. You're drunk. That's what all of this is about.

Lighter needles the details out of you bit by bit, trying to glean information from your ramblings. Stranded out in Badger Springs. You met some guy out there for a date, he went to the bathroom and didn’t come back. You don’t laugh when he offers to deck the guy, and he can’t tell if you’re really torn up about this or if you just didn’t hear him.

Lighter pinches the bridge of his nose. He exhales long and low, away from the mic. He shouldn't encourage this. Can't keep bailing you out every time you get yourself in a sticky situation. But the thought of you drunkenly stumbling around the Outer Ring, bumbling your way into real trouble, has him fumbling to get his arms through his jacket.

“Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

Badger Springs. Seriously? Why’d you have to go so far out? What was so wrong with getting a drink in Blazewood?

Irritation pricks at him, has his hands feeling staticky even when he grips the handlebars of his bike. You probably went out there so no one would interrupt your date. What, were you trying to hide it? Did the girls know about this? No. No way. You would have called one of them to pick you up if that were the case. Right? You weren’t trying to hide it from him, not specifically.

He has a long ride ahead to stew about it, to knot the meaning of your actions into ugly shapes and then smooth them out, only to twist it all up again another mile down the road. This wouldn’t have happened - he kicks the stand down on his bike - if he’d manned up, if he’d asked you to watch the movie he’d rented. (New release, independently produced, apparently based off some old civilization tapes that had only been spoken about in a scant few records - some horror flick called Seen that you had been raving about. Not his thing, but your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He figured he could just watch you during the bloody parts.)

But he didn’t ask, and now he’s here, freezing his ass off in the middle of the night, parked outside this shithole bar, two towns over. The bar is a dump. Looks like your date couldn’t even take you anywhere nice. You’re off by yourself at the end of the bar, shoulders drawn in close, crowding over your drink. At least the regulars are leaving you alone. A quick look around tells him that there’s too many people in this place for it to be a quick fight, if it came down to that.

He strolls past tables and booths, lets his hand fall heavy on your shoulder. You jump, turning sluggishly to look up at him - eyes wide and red. C’mon - don’t tell him you’ve been crying over this prick. Your expression smooths the moment that you recognize him. 

“Lighter!” Your arms fling around his middle, squeeze him tightly.

The tide of adrenaline that he washed in on pulls back, drags his relief away. Anger shores up, quick and sudden. It soothes in another pulse of his heart; understanding. It's kind of flattering if he doesn't think about it too hard. You trusted him enough to come pick you up. Probably couldn't even think clearly - just knew you wanted to go home. Knew he would get you there, safe and sound. Not a bad prize for driving all the way out here; he tries to enshrine this moment in his memory. Later, trying to fall asleep in his room, he’ll feel like a sleaze for delighting in being your hero like this.

He pats the top of your head, takes advantage of the distraction to wave the bartender over, check if you’ve still got an open tab. He slips him a couple extra denny for the trouble, keeps you distracted and talking with carefully placed ‘oh, really?’s and ‘mhm’s.

"You're wasted, huh?"

“Not that bad.”

You sound confident. He steps back, lets you hop off the bar stool on your own. Lighter hooks a thumb in his pocket. He drums his fingers against his thighs, watching you sway back and forth in front of him. Your eyes are hazy and unfocused, looking in his general direction with a dopey grin on your face.

Pride feels better than anger. He latches onto that. You make it so easy to feel when you cling onto his arm, lean into him. He keeps you close, ignores the whispers he overhears about the Red Scarf. His step quickens. He���s not getting into any trouble, not when he’s here for you.

You struggle to keep up, all uncoordinated limbs, your head probably spinning. He helps you onto the back of his bike and passes you a helmet. He’d grabbed it on his way out - figured if you were as trashed as you sounded on the phone then it was better safe than sorry. He’s glad he did.

Somewhere along the ride home, you stopped babbling. He had felt your words pressed against his back more than he had heard them. He stops just before home to check on you. Can’t have you falling asleep. He doesn’t want to hear it about riding in with you all banged up on the back - he’d never let it down. He’d never let himself live it down, more accurately, but his bike starts back up before you hear that part.

Honestly, he’s almost positive you won’t remember much past when you first called him. That doesn’t stop him from treating you gently. He helps you off his bike, keeps your hand in his to guide you around stray milk crates and cacti that just seemed to leap into your path.

It’s just a little further. He’s almost got you back to your place when he hears it. That ominous groan. Your face pallid, cold sweat breaking out against your forehead.

“Gonna throw up?” He asks, big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

You shake your head, the force of it knocking you off balance. You would have stumbled right into a cactus if he hadn’t hauled you into his side by the back of your shirt. (Like scruffing a kitten, he catches himself thinking. Cute.)

He tries to guide you to the closest trash can, but you can’t quite make it. Your legs are quaking, all the strength sapped from you while you expel that contents of your stomach into one of Old Demir’s flower pots. He gathers your hair back from your face gently, caging it all in one hand to rub your back with the other. Somewhere between gentle coos of ‘there you go’ and ‘let it all out’, he manages to make out your garbled apology. You thread it between heaves, between sobs, but he catches it all the same and shushes you for it.

“All better?” He asks when the dry heaving has stopped. You nod slowly. The tiniest whimper he’s ever heard drifts from your lips. He knows from experience that much more movement than that will hurt.

Lighter sighs. The scent of your perfume curdles with the stench of vomit. He arranges your hair back as best he can, trying to replicate the way you had done yourself up - all pretty for another man, he remembers. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, and he pulls the end of his scarf free.

“No, Lighter–”

Your hands are clumsy. He dodges your attempts to stop him easily. He clicks his tongue and swipes the vomit from your chin. “Don’t worry about it. This scarf has seen worse.”

It’s about time to get it cleaned, anyway. Add that to his growing list of chores.

You’re moving slower than before. He tucks you into his side to give you some more stability. When you pause at the steps to your place, he sweeps an arm under your knees, cradles you close to him. He had expected a protest, or an apology - something in line with the rest of your behavior this evening, but you curl closer to him. 

It’s a fumble to find your keys - shifting your weight from one arm to the other until he finally finds them in your back pocket. He knows your place well enough to dodge the shoes left in the entrance way, to step around the box that sticks out into the hallway from your bedroom. He settles you into your bed, rolls you onto your side - just to be safe.

Lighter keeps watch for a few moments, making sure you’re not going to roll onto your back, pressing the back of his hand against your sweat-chilled forehead. Once he’s certain the worst has passed, he leaves to fill a glass of water for you. Your eyes are half-open when he gets back. He draws up a chair, tries to figure out how to ask if you want his help changing into something more comfortable without sounding like a creep.

You rip that idea from his head when you blindside him with a question.

“D’you think it’s my fault?”

“Course not,” Lighter answers before he can even put together what you’re asking. “Everyone has too much fun sometimes. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re not even gonna remember this.”

“No, I mean…” You curl tightly around your pillow. He could have sworn he heard a hitch in your voice. His heart lurches. Christ, you can’t start crying now. He can’t take it. “Why would he just leave?”

Lighter has to remind himself not to pull a face. Not what you need right now. He’s already said too much. He’s just going to wind up upsetting you more. He wants to tell you that guy is a douchebag, that none of it had been your fault. The guy just wasn’t man enough to be upfront. That was all.

“I just don’t think I’m meant for this,” you whisper. His train of thought crashes abruptly. "Like– love, and stuff.”

“You’re so much fun to be in love with,” Lighter says, and if you were sober you would clock him for just how quickly he did so, “and someday, someone’s gonna see that.”

“How do you know?”

Because my heart feels like it’s buckled into a roller coaster and I can’t figure out if I’m having fun or if I’m scared shitless. Because I’ve got eyes. Because it’s you.

He can’t say any of that. Not now, while you’re shivering and small, a little bundle of raw nerves that he rescued from some dump. Christ, you really are a kitten right now. He chucks your chin with a knuckle, his smile twisting to something bittersweet.

“C’mon. You should know not to bet against me by now.”

For the first time since he got you through the door, you smile. Barely there and flimsy, but you’re only just clinging to consciousness. Your cheek presses back against your pillow, eyes slipping shut.

“Thanks, Lighter,” you murmur.

You’re out cold within the next minute.

Lighter lingers overlong. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be in your room while you’re passed out like this, but he can’t bring himself to rise. His shoulders hunch, expression dropping, stomach churning. Through your window, dawn is just beginning to break. The Outer Ring is bathed in a cool blue light, the horizon tinging purple at the edges.

You have a hell of a morning ahead of you. He runs a hand down his face and forces himself to stand, to get his day started properly. Another sleepless night. Maybe the next time he finds himself awake, staring at the ceiling and tormenting himself, he’ll call you first. Maybe he’ll do it before anyone else has a chance to.

Lighter locks your door on his way out and tucks the key under your mat. He should act. He should tell you.

He walks back to his place in silence, resisting the urge to grab his phone, to text you and say let me know if you need anything.

Maybe one day.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。MEET UGLY — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college au!, rich boy! gojo, first meets, slight meet ugly but mainly he’s just annoying, established relationship in second scene, banter + fluff, kissies for da princess boy <3

dating gojo has always been, and will always be, the biggest unforeseen plot twist of your life.

the first time you encounter gojo satoru, it’s in literature class. he laughs with that dark haired friend of his a bit too loudly in the back while you try to share your thoughts on the reading from last night—it’s not that you particularly care for the class, but you’re trying to get the participation points, and you don’t want some slacking jackass to ruin that for you.

you throw him a glare over your shoulder, making him pause and blink before he shoots you a cheshire grin. you swear you hear a chuckle from the distance as you turn and continue speaking.

the second time you stumble across him is in line at the campus coffee shop. it’s the first day of the semester, and you have class in fifteen minutes across campus, but you’re tired. incredibly so—working shifts back to back late into the night is not doing you any favors, but you have to afford gas money and textbooks somehow.

you need caffeine, and you need it quick so you can make it to class on time.

except the tall, snow-haired stranger in front of you is making that very difficult as he takes forever and lists his wildly long list of syrups and add ons for his drink—seriously, who can even stomach a drink like that? you crinkle your nose as you imagine how sweet it must be. what irritates you more is that he pays for his ridiculously expensive drink that’s far too sweet for eight am with a black card. you glare daggers into the back of his head, wishing you could crack his skull in two with your stare alone.

and then he turns, raises a brow as he stares at you calculatingly—and then his lips turn into a grin as he seems to recognize you. great, you think.

“hey, weren’t you in lit class with me last semester?” he asks, making you sigh as you purse your lips.

“yes. now please move, i need to order and get to class.”

“she curved that final exam pretty generously, i thought i was going to fail—”

“i’ll take a large double shot,” you mumble, ignoring him as you place your order. you can feel his stare from the side as you pay.

“that’s pretty strong, don’t you think?” he asks, making you throw a glare at him from over your shoulder, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

it only seems to amuse him more, making you grit your teeth—how irritating could someone even manage to be? there’s got to be some sort of record he’s holding for most nerves he’s ticked off within the span of two meets.

“well, assuming from the fact that you’re a college student with a black credit card,” you huff, “you probably haven’t had to work a single night shift in your life.”

you put away your own card as you speak—one that’s not black, and one that’s going to have a very high bill due soon from the textbooks you’ll have to purchase.

“i like you,” he grins, “you’re funny. how about i—”

you cut him off again, done interacting for the morning. “have a nice day,” you say curtly, walking over to the wait area for your drink.

he seems entirely amused by your attitude—which only pisses you off more. does everything seem to make his lips quirk into that annoying smirk of his? and why is it so handsome? what a waste of such a gorgeous face to be paired with such an insufferable personality. and, because the universe hates you, he waits around for you even after he gets his drink, following you out the door when you grab yours and leave.

“how about i take you out for coffee tomorrow?” he grins, “i’ll pay with that black card you like so much.”

what an asshole—you hope he gets hit by a car and loses a few teeth.

“no.”

“c’mon, it’ll be fun—”

“no.”

“okay,” he chuckles, “feisty. i like it.”

and then, as you turn the corner, he turns with you, walking leisurely behind you as he sips that disgustingly sugary drink of his.

“what the fuck,” you hiss, “why are you following me?”

“i’m not,” he says innocently, “why are you following me?”

where are all the cars in the streets when you need them? and why haven’t they hit him yet?

“i’m walking ahead of you jackass,” you huff, “how can i be following you?”

“oh yeah?” he takes a few strides with those abnormally long legs of his, walking ahead of you as he shoots you an amused grin over his shoulder. “now you’re following me. does that mean you changed your mind about that date?”

“you wish,” you seethe.

a few more steps, and he walks into the same building as you. great—you’ll likely be running into him every morning then. a few more steps and he’s turning the hall to the same hall as you. wonderful—you’ll probably have to deal with him to the walk to class too. a few more steps, and then you realize he’s entering the same class that you’re entering.

fucking fantastic. just what you needed. absolutely divine luck—the universe has really handed you the largest pair of clown shoes it could find.

of course he of all people would be in class with you for another semester—and he seems to brighten considerably when he realizes he’s in your class too, because his grin widens even more.

“well, look at that,” he says brightly, “you followed me all the way to class. we might as well be seatmates.”

“don’t even think about sitting near me,” you warn, “i’m going to go that way. you go that way.”

he does not go the way you point—instead, he chuckles and plops down right beside you. how on earth could someone be so easy to despise? of all the empty seats in the entirety of the lecture hall, he just has to choose the seat right next to you.

for a moment, you contemplate skipping this class entirely and trying to teach yourself everything before the tests just so you don’t have to see him—you’ve done that enough times, it shouldn’t be too hard. but then you remember that this course is notorious for having a semester long paired project that weighs for a hefty amount of your final grade—skipping is not an option.

so, with veins ready to pop any second, and an oncoming migraine, you sit through all of lecture trying to ignore the absolute worst guy you’ve ever met. not only is he rude and obnoxious and overly confident to a fault—but he’s also rich and spoiled and privileged to live in a realm entirely separate from your reality.

you think you might just hate him.

you’re broken from your thoughts when you hear your name as the professor lists the pairs she’s already made from the roster for the semester’s project. this is great, you think, she’ll call someone’s name, and you’ll have that as an excuse to sit with them and avoid the nuisance sat beside you.

everything is fine. you’ll be free in just a few moments. it’ll all be over soon.

“gojo satoru,” she calls, “if you could raise your hand so your partner knows who to find after class.”

then, as if in slow motion, the very same guy who ruined your morning raises his hand, looking over at you absolutely enthused as his eyes sparkle through the top of his sunglasses—which, only an asshole would wear sunglasses indoors.

“hey partner,” he chuckles, “how about coffee tomorrow to discuss our project?”

—————

satoru likes to think that even with his unfortunate start with you on the wrong foot, he’s managed a steady relationship with you.

you don’t tell him to get hit by a car anymore—instead, now you kiss his forehead before bed every night, hold his hand and swing his arm with yours when you’re out, cuddle him after long days and talk about life, and sometimes—when he’s been extra good, you might even do other activities with him that include a whole lot of intimacy and exclude a whole lot of clothing.

he likes to think you’re pretty in love with him—and he’s proud to claim himself as your adorable, sweet, very handsome and extremely funny boyfriend. although, you don’t really ever call him all that, but he’s fairly confident you think it, and that’s close enough.

“baby,” gojo pokes your arm from his spot on your lap, “on a scale of one to ten, how cute would you say i am?”

“an eleven when you shut up and let me work,” you mumble, stroking his hair with one hand and doing calculus problems with the other.

he pouts, huffing in disbelief.

“you know, if you keep taking me for granted, you might lose me,” he says petulantly.

it earns a snort from you as you give him an amused look.

“toru, i think your mom would pay me to get back together with you if we ever broke up.”

“she would not,” he gasps, watching as you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“remember our first fight? you practically starved yourself in your room,” you giggle, “she had to beg me to come talk to you so you’d eat.”

“that’s not true! i had kitkats and coke zero in my room,” he defends himself, crossing his arms as he sits up. “i was fine.”

“you definitely cried yourself to sleep,” you snicker, “you’re hopeless without me.”

“i am just fine without you,” he lies through his teeth, turning away from you as he tilts his head up indignantly.

“remember when you couldn’t even last a week without me while i was studying for finals? and then your mom had to call and beg me again to spend time with you?”

“that’s not—”

“admit it, toru,” you grin cheekily, pinching his nose as you chuckle, “you’d probably die if we ever broke up.”

“and you’d be fine?” he asks incredulously—he’s almost distressed at the idea, staring at you in slight hurt that makes you laugh before setting your calculus homework aside.

you grab his arm and pull him into your side, kissing his head as he slumps onto your chest.

“i don’t know, i don’t think i’d mind watching a mopey satoru beg me to take him back.”

“you don’t deserve me,” he grumbles, “i deserve to be loved and cherished. i’m a catch.”

“i bet you’d make that ugly face of yours when you cry,” you tease, making him look up at you with an offended gasp.

“i’ll have you know i’m exceptionally pretty when i cry. the waterworks have gotten me loads of things from my mom—i’m irresistible.”

“you’d probably be on your knees in seconds,” you continue to poke fun at him, “please take me back. i’m nothing without you, baby,” you mock his voice, giggling as he glares at you unimpressed.

“now you’re just being a bully. do you even love me?”

“i do,” you grin softly, pecking his cheek, “i love you a ton. you know that.”

“you don’t act like it,” he grumbles.

you laugh, hugging him tighter as your fingers slip into his hair again. sometimes, you think you should be shocked you’re here—laying in bed with gojo satoru and kissing his cheeks as he pouts. you of the past might just kill you of the present if you saw yourself now….but something about gojo is charming enough that you can overlook the very annoying first impression you had.

enough that maybe….well, maybe you might also be a bit hopeless without him—but you’ll never tell him that.

something tells you he knows, though, when he wraps a strong arm around you and pulls you impossibly closer, kissing the corner of your lips as he grins.

“what about that time you got soooo jealous?” he grins, “we weren’t even together yet. and remember that time you begged my mom to take home baby pictures of me? you’re obsessed,” he says proudly, “i would be too. i’m adorable.”

“you’re a pain is what you are,” you mutter.

“i love you too,” he chuckles, burying his head into your shoulder.

you grin, the curves of your lips painted with love as they find his forehead, pressing delicate kisses to the skin. maybe being paired for a semester long project with the annoying rich boy in your class wasn’t so bad—maybe you owe finding the softest love you’ve ever had to the strict and unpleasant professor who gave you an A- when you definitely deserved an A.

“and how are you so sure i love you?” you ask playfully. he rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers with his.

“because you haven’t hit me with your car yet,” he bites back, making you laugh brightly.

plssss i want him so bad i cannot take it anymore every day without him feels like pins and needles in my skin it’s utter agony i feel like my life’s meaning has been stripped from me i feel like my lungs and heart both burn from the lack of oxygen i feel like i am but an empty shell with no soul lost and wandering the planet searching for a reason to go on

ps. if you have been reading along w rb! gojo i hope you caught some of the references to old drabbles ;)

[overlyobsessed223]

decaf

Hal might have physically made it to the emergency Justice League meeting Batman had the audacity to call so suddenly at 4 o'clock in the morning, but mentally he’s still half asleep. The room is dead silent, even though mostly everyone has arrived by now, save for Barry—who they’re expecting to be fifteen minutes late as usual—and Clark. The only solace Hal is able to draw upon is that he’s clearly not the only one royally peeved by the ungodly wakeup call, as Dinah and Oliver are both glaring daggers at Bats and Arthur has already made three snappish comments since he got here five minutes ago. 

All Hal knows is there better be a damn good reason for this.

Clark showing up a minute later with his arms full of donut boxes and coffees doesn’t exactly ease the high tensions in the room, but Hal does perk up a bit when the smell of strong coffee hits his nose. He mumbles a quick, “thanks, man,” when Clark places a coffee with Green Lantern written on it in front of him. Grabbing it, he’s about to take a long, desperate gulp when he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Clark place a cup labeled Flash in front of Barry’s empty chair. Even through the brain fog that’s severely impairing his ability to think, he remembers something important. 

“Hey, that’s decaf, right?” Hal asks, breaking the silence in the room. Clark turns and gives him a questioning look, so Hal points at Barry’s coffee and elaborates. “Barry’s coffee. It’s decaf, right? He doesn’t drink anything with caffeine in it.”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s decaf,” Clark clarifies, offering a cheery, chipper smile that burns Hal’s retinas. He looks well rested and ready to start the day, the midwestern farm boy in him making him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of them. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.”

“Cool, cool,” Hal nods, settling back in his chair. He finally goes in for a sip of his coffee and barely manages to refrain from moaning out loud when the bitter taste hits his tongue. “Thanks,” he adds as an afterthought. 

The silence resumes. Only, Hal realizes that instead of everyone in the room staring at Batman, they’re now all staring at him, with varying looks ranging from confused to bewildered. Or, in Bruce’s case, unamused and unimpressed.

“What?” Hal frowns.

“That was just very, um,” Arthur trails off, as if he can’t find the words to complete his thought. 

“Cute,” Dinah interjects to finish the thought hanging in the air. She suddenly seems wide awake now, leaning forward eagerly whilst gripping the edge of the table with both hands, eyes glimmering with way too much knowing for Hal’s comfort. “Adorable, even.”

“Shut up,” Hal rolls his eyes, but to his horror he can feel his face begin to heat up. He fixes Dinah with a glare and hopes to god Clark will have the decency to not call attention to the way his heart has begun to pound against his ribcage. “For the last time, Barry and I are just friends. And for the record, making sure your buddy has the right drink does not mean you’re in love with him.”

“Uh, huh,” Dinah says, but the smirk on her face tells Hal his point didn’t quite land the way he’d intended it to. Meanwhile, at the opposite side of the table, Hal sees J’onn pull out a miniature notebook out of his pocket and begin carefully writing notes, as he tends to do when conversations about human culture come up.

“Why didn’t you ask if my coffee is decaf?” Oliver cuts in, sounding oddly hurt.

“Do you… drink decaf coffee?” Hal asks, confused. 

“No,” Oliver glowers, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at his untouched cup of coffee.

“Then why would I—”

A hand slams down onto the table, and with that the room goes silent as everyone turns to where Batman is looming over them, appearing in no mood for small talk or discussion of Hal’s love life. Hal thinks this might be one of the rare times when he and the Bat find themselves in strong agreement.  

“Might I remind everyone at this table that we have an emergency, globe threatening situation on our hands?” Bruce glares around the table. “We should begin briefing now; Flash can be filled in on what he missed at the end.”

Ten minutes into a very tense briefing, Barry finally decides to show his face. His face is even more shadowed with sleep deprivation than anyone else, and Hal instantly suspects he didn’t sleep at all, but he figures he’ll grill him on that later. Barry’s eyes brighten when they land on the cup of coffee and full box of donuts in front of him. 

Barry picks up the coffee, inspects it for a second, and that’s when Hal leans in and whispers, “I checked—it’s decaf.”

And the way Barry beams at him, it does what even Hal’s coffee couldn’t achieve—it has him teeming with energy, ready to start the day.

[hanjisick]

— ESPRESSO

order #5 of the coffee shop series: an espresso shot.

ingredients. barista!jisung x y/n. strangers to lovers?? night shift worker jisung who’s obsessed with music.

allergies. contains: semi-public making out. almost sex in a café bathroom but interrupted.

size. 2.3k

special add ons. jisung loved his job working the night shifts at yellow wood café. he would jam out to music and yell at college students to wake up and do their work. and occasionally flirting with pretty girls, unless they ask him to sing— then he becomes a mess.

“jisung, the shop is all yours.”

“i won’t let you down, chan.” his boss let out a lighthearted laugh, pushing open the door. 

the bell chimed, announcing his departure. his wide eyes followed chan through the glass door, waiting for him to disappear. 

jisung’s shoulders slumped once chan was gone for good. now it was him, the customers, and the music.

there were only a few minutes until the night rush started. college students would pack the shop soon with laptops and notebooks out, eager to stay up late enough to get work done if they consumed more caffeine than their bodies could handle.

yellow wood café was always the busiest at night since it was the only coffee shop open for almost twenty-four hours. jisung was always on the move because of it, with the rest of the boys valuing their sleep too much to help out, other than occasionally chan.

he didn’t mind being alone though. jisung almost felt like the owner of the shop at these times. he could make his own rules.

the espresso machine was on, the tables were clean, and the dishes were out, ready to assist the students. the only thing left— the only thing he was ever scolded for— was the music. 

he cranked the volume up as high as his ears could handle, carefully selecting a vinyl out of his collection.

he selected enough to queue for the next few hours, carefully stacking them next to the record player. 

the bell chimed— right on time. 

autopilot kicked in as he began to prepare drinks into the night, one espresso shot at a time, making sure to down a few himself. 

his body had gotten used to being practically nocturnal, but a kick of caffeine never hurt anyone. 

“welcome in!” he yelled over the music as you walked in, hands deep in the pockets of your jacket, your cheeks red from the cold. the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries immediately hit you. 

“hi,” you shouted back, “can i get an espresso shot? i have some homework to catch up on.”

the barista’s infectious laugh caused your lips to curl into a smile, noticing the way his lips took the shape of a heart. “you don’t need to explain, baby, everyone here is in the same boat.”

you would’ve cringed at the endearing nickname if he wasn’t as cute. “do you always call your customers baby?” 

“it’s part of my charm.” 

“are you also always this stuck up?”

“do i need to repeat myself?” 

“whatever. how much?” 

he leaned against the counter, resting his face against his hand, a little too close to you. again, you let it slide. “cute girls get coffee for free.“

this time you couldn’t help but cringe at the shameless flirting, crossing your arms and huffing. 

“what’s a good name for your order?” 

“y/n.”

he watched you take a seat at the bar, pulling the laptop out of your bag to begin your work just as everyone around you had done.

the sounds of your typing were drowned out by the loud music. you caught your head nodding to the upbeat music. 

did he play this so that the students didn’t fall asleep? you glanced around the room, half of the students drooling on their keyboards. it didn’t work.

you felt your own eyes begin to droop, your hands getting lazier, and your breathing was heavier…. 

“more espresso please!” you shouted before it was too late, staring at the essay that was only half complete.

your ears didn’t even register the way that the barista was singing along to the music, loudly at that, until he paused to answer you.

“coming right up, baby!” 

you groaned in fake annoyance, waiting for him to slide the small cup your way.

downing the caffeine, your face contoured from the intense bitterness, but it worked. soon, you were back to writing your essays.

the clock soon hit one. then two, then three. 

there were barely any people left, and the ones that were still around were dozing off, with jisung occasionally running to wake people up, reminding them of all the work they need to be doing.

“don’t give up now!” you’d hear him yell out, shaking someone awake, “remember that chemistry quiz? it’s tomorrow!” 

over the night, you’d grown quite fond of the boy, finding it endearing how enthusiastic he was, willing to learn about all of his customers, keeping the energy alive through music and shuffling his feet around the café. 

through one of the conversations you overheard, you found out his name was jisung. jisung, the barista who works the night shifts. you heard a nickname for him that seemed to stick. the music man. 

“we can do it, you guys! just a few more hours!” 

you shook your head, waving him over to your direction to ask for another shot. 

“y/n! you’ve been awake for so long, what’ve you gotten done?” 

“actually, i finished an hour ago,” you confessed.

jisung grinned, leaning over your shoulder, “why are you still here then? shouldn’t you be asleep for class tomorrow?”

“i don’t have a class tomorrow,” you nudged him back with your shoulder, “to be honest, i’m just enjoying the music. what’s the song that’s playing right now? i want to add it to my playlist.” 

there was a moment of silence before you turned to face his direction, only to find his grin widening even further— you didn’t know that was possible.

“you’re asking about the music?”

“yes, i am,” you confirmed as if he hadn’t heard you, “what’s the song?” 

“oh my god. nobody asks me about the music.” for a moment, you were afraid that he was going to explode. 

“i run all of the music here. i have a collection of vinyl and there’s this small spot at the back of the store-“

“can i see?” you grinned, and you didn’t have to ask twice before he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the back of the store.

jisung’s most prized possession— a white shelf in the back of the shop that chan, very reluctantly, let him keep. it was slightly hidden by messy vines and plants, behind every table in the store. records filled the shelves, a few spilling out to the floor in a messy pile that jisung couldn’t be bothered to pick up. 

you let out an audible gasp at the sight, squatting down beside him as you picked up a couple of the records.

“this is one of my favorite albums ever!” 

“really?” you watched him light up, “i love it too. the production is just amazing.”

“i don’t know anything about production, but i love the music.”

“funny story,” he let out a small laugh, “me, chan, and changbin, my coworkers here, used to try and produce songs. it didn’t work out though, we never took off. that’s when chan opened this shop.”

“i’m sure you’re good. what did you guys do?”

“mostly rap,” he took a few of the vinyl covers into his hands, placing them back in between the shelves, “but i can sing. i like to play guitar too, and the piano sometimes. i’m also a dancer.”

“the singing behind the counter didn’t sound all that promising. maybe you should stick to rapping.”

“i wasn’t doing it justice! i was singing tone deaf!” he argued back as if he were annoyed.

“you should let me hear you sing, then.”

“no way!” he stood back up, “there’s too many people here. i’ll get shy.” 

“weren’t you supposed to be all flirty and cocky?”

“not in front of everyone. only pretty girls.”

“then serenade me, and maybe i’ll fall for you.”

“after my shift.”

“promise?”

“fine.”

“i’ll wait here until you’re done, then.”

“no fair! aren’t you supposed to sleep soon? it’s almost five in the morning!” 

“what time do you get off?”

“what time can you get me off?” he smirked, avoiding the topic.

“that doesn’t even make any sense.”

“you win some you lose some,” he shrugged, beginning to walk back to the counter. the shop was as good as dead by now. 

“you aren’t getting out of this. i’m committed now,” you continued as you followed him, taking your seat back at the counter.

“my shift is over at five thirty,” he replies with a sigh, “then we can belt out until seungmin gets here while i clean the place up.” 

“seungmin?”

“early morning shift. annoying, mean, loveable,” he smiled to himself, cleaning off a dirty cup.

“so just like you,” you teased.

“more mean, less loveable like me.”

the last two customers had left, “have a good day!” 

“now its just us,” you commented, reminding him of the promise that he had made you.

“wait until a really good song comes on,” he groaned, refusing to let you see his burning ears.

“stop making excuses. pretty girls will never want to kiss you if you do that.”

“kissing is on the table?” jisung’s eyes widened, “you should’ve said something earlier!”

“you’re that desperate?” you watched him scramble to his shelf, shuffling through albums.

“are you gonna kiss me if i sing to you?”

“only if you’re good.”

that was enough confirmation for him to switch out the vinyl. 

“listen to this, baby. it’ll blow you away.”

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the counter and smirking in amusement. but when he began to sing, your sly smile turned into wonder, intensely paying attention to his voice. 

he could feel your gaze burning into him, and he refused to meet it for fear of rejection. instead, he simply continued to wash dishes with shaky hands and a red face.

then his voice cracked. 

he closed his eyes, leaning down to yell out in embarrassment, “i can't sing in front of pretty girls!”

the song continued in the background, but jisung fell silent, clutching a wet metal straw in his hand.

you ignored his fuss, “and you’re telling me that people didn’t die for your voice?”

he fell silent. “you sound like an angel, jisung! you’re better than the guy on that track!” 

“he’s really good though,” he tried to change the topic from himself. 

you sighed, standing up from your stool and going behind the counters— nobody was here, and jisung wouldn’t mind, right?

grabbing his shoulders gently, you turned him around to face you, having to bite your lip to stop yourself from poking fun at his beet-red face. 

standing on the tips of your toes, you leaned up to match the height added from his platforms and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

his eyes widened as if he didn’t expect you to follow through with your promise.

“did you just kiss me?”

“no, i just sold your soul to a demon and the only way to do it is to touch my lips to yours.”

“can you do it again?”

“you’re so romantic,” you teased, leaning in once again as his hands met your waist.

“can i kiss you, like, a lot?” jisung stammered. 

“sure.” you had to admit, it was adorable watching him act so shy compared to how he flirted with you so effortlessly earlier. 

he pulled you out of your thoughts, lifting you onto the counter with muscles that you didn’t even know were behind his loose hoodie. 

you let out a yelp, but he quickly shut you up with a longer, more passionate kiss. 

his hands tightly held your waist and your own met his dark, messy hair. you tugged on it, making him groan as he deepened the kiss, tasting the espresso in your mouth. 

the two of you pulled away for air, taking in a deep breath, but jisung had every intention to continue.

“about getting off?” he joked, in a quiet, raspy tone from the kiss. 

the next thing you knew, you were being dragged into the bathroom, the mess of the café disregarded behind you. 

he slammed the door, then pushed you against it a little too desperately. 

“is this actually happening?” he thought out loud.

“whatever, let’s just do it.”

he nodded, pressing his lips against yours for the third time. you closed your eyes, losing yourself in his lips. you could hear the music faintly from behind the door, noticing the ringing in your ears from how loud it was. 

his hands traveled from your hips to your hair then back down to the hem of your shirt. he played with it for a moment, before snaking his fingers up to your bra, right about to unclasp it.

“han jisung!” both of you jumped at the screaming voice, snapping out of the moment as the bell from the store rang.

“tell me this is a fucking joke!” 

“shit, seungmin’s here,” he pulled away from your lips, out of breath. 

his hair was a mess and his black jeans were noticeably tight around him. he tried to pull himself together before seungmin would come barging into the bathroom. 

jisung tumbled out of the door right as the other barista turned the music off. 

you stalked behind him, readjusting your shirt with a face just as flustered as his own.

the boy massaged his temples, “look, i don’t care if you turn this place into a bar for your night shifts. that’s for you and chan to worry about, but you left me all of this mess with only thirty minutes until we open again.”

jisung glanced back at you, watching you contain your giggles as he got scolded.

“hell! we’re still open! you never even bothered to flip the sign! or shut off the lights! or turn off your music!” 

jisung turned back to meet seungmin’s frustrated face.

“i got carried away, there was this really hot girl and we both,” he stopped his story there, sighing. 

“just please don’t tell chan.”

“chan won’t hear about it unless you get to work immediately and clean this place up!”

“on it!”

you watched the boy scramble to work as you finally let your laughter spill from your lips.

“if i were you, i wouldn’t get involved with that guy,” seungmin turned his attention to you, “he’s a mess.”

“but he’s kind of cute,” you defended, “do you, by chance, have his number?” 

[aria-bun]

Americano

In which Soren makes Corvus stay Read (in full!) on ao3!

AMERICANO

/ˌmerəˈkänō/ (n.)

A drink of espresso diluted with hot water. Most commonly served with three shots of espresso.

——————————————————————

“I swear every time you come here, your caffeine intake doubles.” Soren stared at Corvus from across the counter. He was wearing a dark green beanie this time, matching his work apron. “If you keep doing this, I’m going to have to ask you to sign a waiver.”

“Music Theory finals are nothing to sneeze at,” Corvus said. “And four shots is the minimum I'm willing to put up with at the moment.”

Soren put the cup down in front of him. The quad wasn’t in a to-go cup. It was in a dark blue ceramic mug instead.

“...Why is it in a mug?”

“Because I don’t feel like torturing Opeli by sending you back to your dorm while high on 300 milligrams of caffeine,” Soren answered. “You can study here.”

“I was headed to the library.” Corvus corrected.

“Then I’m saving several other students. You have seven empty tables to choose from.” He gestured to the empty cafe. “I’ll get you a sandwich.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You guys do sandwiches?”

“During midterms we do. Wheat or Rye?”

“Surprise me.” He sipped his espresso, sitting at one of the tables and pulling his laptop out. He had kept his notes all digitized for convenience, along with recordings of the lectures. He plugged his earbuds into his laptop and put them in.

A couple of minutes later he felt a small nudge to his arm. He pulled one of his earbuds out and looked over.

Soren put a plate down next to his laptop. “Roast beef on rye.” He paused. “I probably should have asked if you were vegetarian.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not.” Corvus gave him a small grin.

“I think that is the first time I’ve seen you genuinely smile.” Soren nudged his arm again, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table next to him.

“Don’t you have work?” He raised an eyebrow.

Soren gestured to the empty cafe. “I think all the customers in this very busy cafe can wait for a bit.”

Corvus pulled out his other earbud, the cord resting in his lap. “What are you doing then?”

“Monitoring your caffeine intake.” Soren grinned. “Don’t want you overdosing on me.”

“Then I’ll make sure not to tell you about that time I shotgunned 7 shots of espresso in high school.”

Soren let out a dramatic gasp. “You didn’t.”

He nodded, sipping his coffee. “I passed out for 12 hours after midterms and have no clue what happened.”

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on doing it aga-” Soren was cut off by the front door flinging open and immediately closing.

Corvus looked over and saw a guy with a blue beanie and a thick red scarf covering most of his face.

“Callum?” Soren stood up, raising his eyebrows.

Callum pulled his scarf down. “Yep.” In one of his hands, was a takeout coffee cup.

He sighed. “Again?”

Callum nodded. “And never again.”

“I’m sorry what?” Corvus looked between the two of them.

Soren sighed. “For the past two months, Callum has been going to Xadia Brews for a lavender latte.”

“...You own a cafe.”

“I know!” Callum pressed the heel of his palm into one of his eyes. “I know, I know.”

“I’m guessing you got caught?”Soren guessed.

He nodded.

“And you’re not going back?”

He nodded again, sipping his drink. “But their lavender lattes are so good!”

“And spying on Rayla?” 

“Ye- wait no-”

Corvus covered his snort with a series of coughs before taking a sip from his espresso. “Young love.”

“Amirite?” Soren bumped his shoulder with the back of his hand lightly. Corvus had started to notice that Soren was quite a tactile person, usually tapping his hand against the counter, the espresso machine, the stack of cups, and sometimes Corvus.

“You both are horrible.” Callum wrinkled his nose, sipping his latte. “And I don’t even know who you are.” His gaze shifted to Corvus.

“This is my bud Corvus.” Soren patted his shoulder again. “He’s studying for finals.”

“Trying to.” He corrected. “Because Soren won't let me leave.”

“You ordered a quad, you brought it upon yourself.”

“Mhm.” He looked back at his laptop, sipping his coffee. He could feel Soren’s hand resting on the back of the chair, leaning part of his weight onto it.

Callum looked between the two of them a few times. “I’m just- yeah I’m going to finish this in the back.” He ducked behind the counter and slipped into the back room.

“So… who’s in the betting pool?” Corvus asked after Callum had left.

Soren slid back into his chair. “Let’s see… Me, obviously. My sister Claudia, Terry, Amaya and her girlfriend Janai, Ezran, Gren, and a few of the guys from Xadia according to Janai.”

“You know Amaya?” Corvus raised an eyebrow.

“You know Amaya?”

“She’s the fencing coach.” He shrugged. “Plus she helps Opeli with things.”

“..Yeah that checks out.”

——————————————————————

Two hours later, Corvus got up from the table and walked to the counter. Soren had left to get back to work about half an hour in, leaving him to finish studying.

But he ran out of coffee.

“I already know what you’re going to ask, and for your health and safety, I’m not getting you another quad.”

“Seriously?” Corvus raised his eyebrows at him.

“Yes. What I will do, though,” Soren took his cup. “Is give you a mini americano.”

“You’re giving me diluted espresso.”

“To prevent your inevitable caffeine overdose? Yes. I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”

“When I get back to my dorm I’m using my newly fixed Keurig to have another quad.”

“I think you need your caffeine addiction looked into.” Soren tilted his head at him slightly before handing him his cup back.

“Very funny.” Corvus sipped from the mug.

“I’m serious!” He leaned forward against the counter on his forearms. A bit of his hair flopped into his face, partially covering one of his eyes. “You should look into CAA.”

“What?”

“Caffeine Addicts Anonymous.”

“You made that up.”

“Okay maybe I did but I’m sure something similar exists!” He laughed slightly.

“Well, I need to get back to studying. Thanks for the refill.” Corvus gave him a half smile before going to sit back down at his seat.

A few minutes later, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a text from Soren.

Soren: hey there birdman.

Corvus: You could just turn around and talk to me, you know.

Soren: I could but then Callum would hear me not working.

Corvus: But you aren’t working.

Soren: there’s nothing to do! This place is dead empty besides you.

Corvus: Right.

——————————————————————

Corvus felt a small nudge against his shoulder and pulled his earbuds out, looking up. It had gotten significantly darker since he had started back at studying, the time now being around 7:45 pm.

“Erm, I’m headed out,” Soren said, standing next to him. His apron was gone, and he was wearing a bomber jacket over his sweatshirt.

“How long ago did you close?” He asked, closing his laptop and putting it in his bag.

“...fifteen minutes ago.”

“You could have kicked me out.”

“I didn’t want to bother you!” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You looked all studious and stuff. Plus, I had to clean some stuff up.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” Corvus stood, putting his messenger bag on his shoulder. What building are you in?”

“Why, you wanna kill me in my sleep?” Soren raised his eyebrows, grinning.

“You’ve foiled my master plan.” He deadpanned. “I just wanted to see if it was on my way.”

“Building 3.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Soren tilted his head slightly.

“Same here.”

“How convenient.”

Corvus pulled open the door, letting Soren walk out first before following after. Soren locked the door to the coffee shop, and they started to walk down the sidewalk. Flurries of snow fell from the sky and onto the ground, already covered in snow from previous days.

Soren bumped his shoulder with Corvus’. “You’re quiet.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t know what to talk about.”

“...Alright, that’s fair. Keep your secrets.”

After a few minutes, they reached the entrance of the dorm building, and Corvus walked in with Soren through the main entrance.

He never took the main entrance. Not since freshman year.

What the hell is going on?

The stairs were a bit crowded, people coming back from dinner and from their rooms to wherever their destinations were.

After a few flights of stairs, they made it to floor three, which is where Corvus and Opeli’s room was.

“This is my stop.” He said, turning to face Soren fully. 

“Thanks for letting me walk with you.” Soren cracked a grin.

“It was nice, walking with someone.” Corvus admitted, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag.

“Well, I’m glad I could be good company.” He nudged his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.” He grinned. “Hopefully! Not like- not like in a weird way. I hope to see you soon. There we go.” Soren added quickly, and Corvus laughed slightly. 

“I hope I’ll see you soon as well.”

Corvus and Opeli’s room was the first door on the right from the stairs, so while sparing another glance at Soren, Corvus opened the door and stepped inside.

Opeli was staring at the ceiling from her bed, seemingly zoned out at the ceiling.

“...Opeli?”

“What.”

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Alright then.” Corvus draped his coat and messenger bag on the back of his desk chair.

“I think I flunked my final.” She groaned.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Easy for you to say, you do music theory and jazz studies.”

“As well as music business and applied music. I have to play in a room full of people on friday by myself, Opeli.” He shot her a look from across the room.

“Still.” She dug the heel of her palms into her eyes.

“For what it’s worth, you’re one of the smartest people I know. You probably didn’t fail.”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Probably for the best.”

[diyasgarden]

girlllllll i hope you write more of barista × Art because we seriously need it 🛐

What the people want, they will get!!! I have no idea where this is going, but I felt like this was cute. Hope you like it <3

Part 1

“Everything okay?” Art asks with a small forced laugh as he walks up to the counter. You must have been staring at him blankly. In your defense you really were confused that he was the one who ordered this drink. It wasn’t even you being judgmental (well maybe not fully), but you were surprised. It just seemed unlikely to you. 

“Uh yeah,” you say with a forced laugh of your own. You hand him the coffee cup and mumble, “Just surprised.”

“About what?” he asks as he takes the cup from you. Great. He heard you. 

“Your order,” you say as you motion to the cup. 

“My coffee order confuses you?” he asks with another small forced laugh. 

“Just unexpected,” you say, feeling slightly more awkward with a little shrug. You want the conversation to end right now. 

“What’s unexpected about it?” he asks as he takes a small sip. His eyebrows furrow slightly. You’re unsure if it’s in judgment or in curiosity. His eyes flick down to the name tag pinned on tour shirt, as if to make a mental note of it.

“Just doesn’t seem like you’d order it,” you say. How do you even explain this to him? Art lets out another laugh, but he has an expression that shows he is waiting. You continue, “Well you know. It seems a bit kiddish.” 

“Oh wow,” he says with a laugh in response. A genuine one, clearly amused by your word choice. 

You let out a genuine laugh too. “Like that is barely a coffee,” you add as you motion to it. 

“Well I need the caffeine and I prefer it like this,” Art says with a small shrug. You just shrug in response, it made sense, even if the drink choice seemed a little bit odd. Art lets out another laugh. 

“Well there are other options,” you say with a shrug. 

Art looks at you and then nods slowly as if processing your words. “See you,” he then says as he walks away.

----

Next week you're scheduled to work at the counter. Not nearly as fun as making the drinks, and a hundred more times annoying. You love your job at the cafe, but the last thing you want is to deal with impatient customers. 

Your eyes look over to the clock on the wall. One more hour until your shift was over. Maybe if you stared at the clock enough you’d be able to speed up time. Before you can test it out, you hear footsteps in your direction and hear someone say your name. You look up to see a familiar blonde walking towards you. “So are you going to insult my coffee order today too?” Art asks you with a little laugh. 

“Just for the record, I was not insulting you,” you respond with a little laugh. He lets out a little laugh at this with a shrug and then looks at you. “So you want another coffee with way too much sugar and coffee.” 

“Okay yeah that wasn’t insulting at all,” he says sarcastically with a laugh. “And uh..maybe give me a recommendation,” he adds a second later. You look at him blankly for a moment. “Well you said there were other options last time, so tell me something to try,” he says with a shrug. 

You nod. Slowly and first and then with a little more speed, excited by the prospect. “Okay yeah,” you say and grab a cup to write something down. 

“You’re not going to tell me what?” he asks with a small smile, as he tries to glance at the cup. You move it so what you’ve written is hidden from him. 

“It’s a surprise,” you respond as you look back up at him. “One that’s 3.45,” you say with a smile. He lets out a laugh as he takes out his wallet. 

----

You didn’t expect to see him again, but when you got off his shift he was still sitting at one of the tables with the coffee cup in front of him. He smiles upon seeing you. Was he waiting for you? You don’t let yourself think about it too much before you walk over to where he is sitting. “So thoughts on it?” you ask with a smile. 

“It was good,” he says with a small nod. He looks at the cup and turns it around as if to remind you what you wrote. “A mocha,” he comments. 

“It has chocolate and whipped cream in it,” you say with a smile as you motion to it. “Sweet enough for you?” 

He nods, “Yeah. Very chocolatey.” “Don’t tell me you don’t like chocolate,” you remark with a laugh. 

“No I do,” he says smiling at you. Little smile lines appear around his eyes and the sight makes you smile a bit more too. 

“So good enough to replace your normal order?” you ask. 

Art shrugs. “Well it was good, not great.” 

“Oh and your coffee loaded with sugar and cream is great,” you say with another laugh. “Ouch Art,” you remark feigning pain, moving your hand to your chest in a dramatic manner.

He lets out a laugh at this, “What I mean is that I’d want to try some other options. If you have them” 

You nod once more, “Yeah maybe one or two.” 

Art smiles at this with a little nod, “Next time?” 

“Next time.” 

[horanghxnni]

coffee shop meet-cute. - j.w.w.

PAIRING: Jeon Wonwoo x Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

TAGS: meet cute, strangers to lovers one-shot, barista!reader, non-idol!wonwoo; pure fluff, oblivious pining

WARNINGS: mentions of food/eating; i tried my best to write as gender neutral as possible, but i haven't proofread this more than once so pls let me know if it's not; other than that none (please let me know if i've missed anything)

NOTES: this is my first post here on tumblr omg. hi! i've been a big fan of work here and i've been writing for a while (i shall not discuss my cursed wattpad days when i was younger) and thought i'd start posting here for fun. i hope you enjoy! <3

You had started working at this local coffee shop when you were 16, at first as a way to earn cash on the weekends to fund your high school escapades, and now, 7 years later, you grew to love the feeling of crafting drinks and managing the shop you now felt was like a second home. You worked every day, and opening the quaint little shop meant that the first hour or so was a quiet peace to yourself, filled with the smell of brewing espresso and baking croissants. 

The morning rush came like clockwork, beginning at 7:15 am and finally reaching a calmer pace around 8 am. Just when the busy atmosphere began to subside and the day reached its first slump, a clearly anxious man made his way to the front counter, hurriedly ordering an iced americano and holding out his card before you could even tell him how much it would cost. You rang him up, and he left the counter to stand in a corner with a polite nod to wait for his coffee, glancing at the clock. You make his simple order as quickly as possible and set it on the pickup counter, calling his name. “Wonwoo, iced americano?” 

He grabs his cup and thanks you quietly, before hurriedly leaving the shop, not even bothering to grab a straw. You don’t think too much of it and get back to filling the pastry case as the curious stranger becomes a distant memory by the end of the day. 

That is, until you notice he comes in every day, always at the same time, just before 9 am. He enters with the same kind of energy, always as if he’s perpetually running late, and orders the same thing: iced americano, and if he was feeling peckish, a blueberry muffin. He never talked much, and the only thing you knew about him other than his coffee order was that his name was Wonwoo, he seemed to have a horrible concept of time, and he must work in some office to be dressed in business casual every day. This Groundhog Day feeling encounter with him remained as a growing routine for you, until 3 weeks later when you began to anticipate his arrival, and you had his order ready and waiting for him by the time he reached the counter. Your interaction grew more efficient as time passed, with a single swap of his debit card for his coffee, and his transaction down to 30 seconds, handing him back his card in record timing. You figured it was helping him, right? He was late to work, or something time-sensitive at least, and you made his caffeine pit-stop easier. It was a win-win: you gained another regular, and he got his coffee without hindering his morning. 

He ruined your flow one Wednesday afternoon. Once again, he arrived just before 9 am, but he walked in much slower this time, and he was wearing much more casual clothes, a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, a brown messenger bag slung on his shoulder. As usual, his coffee was already done, and you almost dropped a tray of apple tarts as he entered almost as an entirely different person. You set them in the pastry case with renewed care, and met him at the register. 

“Not in a rush this morning?” You asked, clearly confused but friendly, as you pushed his cup towards him. 

He chuckled, shaking his head as his eyes roved over the rows of pastries and sandwiches you had displayed. “Nope, we started a hybrid schedule so I’m working from home on Wednesdays.” He met your eyes for a moment before shifting back to the sweets, thinking. “I’m thinking about trying something new, what do you recommend?” 

It took you a moment before you adapted to the fact that you’d heard more than two words from him. His voice was smooth and deeper than you expected, and it seemed to sink into your bones. “Um, well the apple tarts are new, and we make pop tarts in house.” 

He nodded and took one more glance before meeting your eyes. “I’ll take one of each, for here.” He gave you a small smile and slid over his debit card, once again catching you off guard. For here? He was staying? You nodded silently and began to warm his sweets as you rang him up. He thanked you and took back his card, settling in a seat a few feet down the counter, pulling out his laptop and beginning to type quietly. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him as you made his little pastry plate, not used to his presence. You were so used to his rush of energy that seeing him so still and calm was confusing. You decided just before you gave him his plate that you’d slip a cake pop next to the tart, you had made extras today anyway. With a nod, you place it beside his laptop and don’t even wait for an acknowledgement, leaving the pretty stranger to his work and busying yourself with cleaning some dirty cups from earlier this morning and wiping down the counters. 

“The poptart is good. Do you make them yourself?” His voice cut through the quiet lo-fi music playing over the speakers as you paused from your cleaning. You turned to see him already looking at you, the half-eaten poptart in his hand. 

You nodded and put down the rag in your hand. “Yeah, every morning. The flavor changes depending on what fruit I can get my hands on.” You see him nod in approval, and he sets it down on his plate as he turns his full attention to you. 

“Thank you for the cake pop. And for making my coffee so quickly every day, it really helps me out.” He appears more bashful now, almost bordering embarrassed, as his cheeks flush an almost imperceptible pink. “I know I seem pretty pressed for time most mornings.” 

You laugh at his comment, thinking back to the quiet whirlwind of his stressed aura that appears in the shop every day. “Of course, I don’t want to make you any later than you already seem to be.” You pause for a moment before speaking again, wondering if you should ask the innocent question in your mind. He seems open to conversation, and it’s not like anyone else was demanding your attention at the moment. “Where do you work anyway?” 

“Oh, I work at the Pledis building, I’m a writer there for content creation. I’m not technically late ever, but I like to get there at a certain time and I definitely overestimate the time I need to commute.” He answers sheepishly, and you smile. A writer for such a big company? Impressive. 

You spoke for a little bit longer before another rush began, learning he’d been working at Pledis for a few years now, and his friend Joshua had recommended this coffee shop to him a few months ago, but he hadn’t had the chance to come until a few weeks ago. Of course your favorite regular would have pushed him here, and little details seemed to fit into place as your small chats throughout the few hours he remained at the bar revealed more and more about each other. Around 4 pm, he left with a wave, trying his best not to distract you too much. You waved back, and with an offhanded, “See you tomorrow!”, he left the cafe, the door jingling behind him. 

_____________ 

The next morning, Wonwoo surprised you again. He came in at 8:30, standing at the register while you finished the last of the morning rush orders, you hadn’t even seen him walk in. You turned to take the order only to see a face that wasn’t supposed to be here for another 20 minutes. 

“Oh, you’re here early! I’m sorry, I haven't made your coffee yet.” Of course you hadn’t. You had timed your routine almost down to the second, and he had thrown off your entire groove. He simply smiled and shook his head. 

“It’s okay, I have some time this morning. I’ll get my usual and another poptart, it doesn't matter the flavor.” He points to the plate and pulls out some cash. “You can keep the change.” Wonwoo, without another word, moves to where he sat the day before, settling in and pulling out his phone. 

You make his coffee and warm his poptart, placing it in a to-go sleeve, placing both in front of him. “So, I finally get my routine down with you and you all of a sudden decide you want to switch it up?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 

He looks up from his phone, a small smile growing on his lips. “Figured if I got here a little earlier, I’d relieve you of the time constraint.” His smile shifts into a frown after a moment. “I’m sorry if it threw you off that bad, I didn’t-”

You wave a hand at him, shaking your head. “Don’t worry about it, I was just messing with you.” 

His body visibly relaxes as he reaches for his coffee. “Thanks, Y/N.” You couldn’t help but grin as you hear your name in his voice, and you nod and turn before he can see just how wide your smile could get. You make small talk as he finishes his coffee and pastry, asking about his work and new recipes brewing in your head for the next 20 or so minutes before he declares he is leaving to head to work. 

“This was nice, actually sitting down before work. Maybe I’ll do this more often.” He hands you his plate as you agree, placing it in the sink to deal with later. 

“Thanks for hanging out with me this morning. You’re welcome anytime, obviously.” You say your goodbyes, and with another small smile, he leaves, and you’re left thinking of the way his smile lights up his face for the rest of the day. 

_____________ 

For the next few weeks, Wonwoo arrives around 20-30 minutes early. Your new routine involves pleasant conversation as you work, and him becoming a taste tester for new recipes before they hit the pastry case. You become used to each other’s presence, and with every new interaction, he grows more and more talkative. He tells you about frustrations from work from the day before, or a movie he had just watched over the weekend. You tell him about your roommate endeavors and outings you’d gone on recently. You consider yourselves friends at this point, and it was nice to have someone like him around when the morning felt like too much to handle. 

You had offhandedly mentioned taking a few days off one day and Wonwoo encouraged rest, but through all the chaos of pushed forward deadlines at work, he had completely forgotten until he arrived at the cafe one morning to see someone completely different behind the counter. He was confused to see his usual coffee was still sitting waiting for him in its normal place with his name on it, set aside on the counter, yet he did not recognize the barista currently finishing up a latte. As he slowly stepped up to the pickup counter and grabbed his drink, the employee looked up and met his gaze. 

“Oh, you must be Wonwoo. There’s your iced americano, there’s a muffin in the bag beside it.” His demeanor was nonchalant, as he placed the other drink on the counter and called out the order. 

“Is Y/N not in today?” It was the first thing he could think of, despite the answer being obvious. 

The younger boy looked up from his work. “No, they're off all week. They left me a note saying a guy named Wonwoo would come in at 8:30 and that was your usual.” He shrugged and looked down again at his brewing espresso shots. “I guess that’s you. I’m Chan, I usually work afternoons but I’m covering for Y/N this week.” 

Wonwoo nods, still processing what he had just heard. Y/N’s gone all week? Why hadn’t they said anything? He suddenly felt stupid as he remembered a conversation from two weeks ago, where Y/N finally decided the week they would take a solo trip to Jeju to visit their grandmother: this week. “Right. Thanks, Chan.” 

Chan nods back at him and Wonwoo leaves the cafe still in a semi-daze after setting down some cash, suddenly feeling as if he was thrown off balance, an unfamiliar budding feeling of disappointment settling deep in his chest. He makes his way to work, suddenly feeling like his predictable coffee didn’t taste the same. 

The rest of his work day was surprisingly only getting worse: he had printed the wrong files, was late to a meeting he was supposed to lead, and currently Joshua was trying (and failing) to speak to him about a conference they were attending the following month as Wonwoo unintentionally tuned him out. Suddenly, he felt a light shove of his shoulder pull him out of his trance.

“Dude, what is wrong with you? Have you heard anything I said?” Joshua raised an accusatory eyebrow at his friend and coworker. Wonwoo’s eyes suddenly gained focus as he looked up to see Joshua leaning against his desk. 

“I-” he attempted to think of an excuse, “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little distracted, my whole day feels thrown off.” He frowned and turned his chair toward the other man. “What were you saying?” 

Joshua’s mouth crept into an almost dangerous smirk as he took a glance at Wonwoo’s still full coffee cup, an unfamiliar handwriting scrawling his name on the top. “You didn’t see Y/N this morning.” 

Wonwoo almost choked on his own spit. “What? How- how do you know that?” 

The older boy rolled his eyes and pointed to the cup. “That’s not Y/N’s handwriting. I see them before you do most mornings, and they're not in town. They told me last week. I thought you knew.” 

“I did know, I just forgot, with everything going on at work.” Wonwoo couldn’t help but frown. Had not seeing them really thrown him off that much? “What does not seeing them have to do with anything though?” 

Joshua scoffed. “Dude, every time you come from that cafe, you walk in like you just won the lottery, and you see them every day. You like them, don’t you?” 

It was the last part that struck Wonwoo to his very core. He’d never even considered that to be an option before. Sure, Y/N was stunning, and kind, and he’d found great company in the barista, but like them? Romantically? Maybe it was more possible than he imagined. His face seemed to drop, as Joshua laughed at his rapid change in expression. 

“It’s okay if you do. They seem to make you happy. I think you should go for it.” With a grin that would rival the Cheshire cat, Joshua claps his friend on the shoulder before leaving his desk to return to his own, as Wonwoo’s brain settles on entertaining this thought that seems to bloom an unfamiliar feeling in his chest, replacing the heavy stone of disappointment from earlier. 

_____________

You were back after a relaxing few days with your grandmother, spending time in the sun and looking out on the ocean. Although the time off was needed, you couldn’t help but think about not only your cafe, but a specific regular you hadn’t seen since last week. You hoped Chan had made his usual for him as she said on the note, and you were excited to catch up with Wonwoo about the last week, and honestly, just to see him again. Spending the last few days without seeing each other triggered the realization that he was more special to you than you had initially thought, and though he may not feel the same, you were content with the friendship you had formed already. 

You opened the cafe without issue, and a sense of calm washed over you as you fell back into your routine. The morning rush felt like a breeze as you fell into a groove and before you knew it, 8:30 rolled around and the man you’d been thinking of walked through the door. He was early, as he now often was, but his anxious energy was back. He stepped up to the counter as you handed him his coffee, a fresh pop tart on a plate sliding his way as well. 

“It’s on the house today. I’m sure you missed my magic touch last week.” You joked, your smile widening. His mouth opened before it shut once more, mirroring your grin as he said a quiet thank you as he took his seat. You caught up on missed stories, with mostly you telling stories of your vacation as he sat quietly and listened as you multitasked. It wasn’t until you asked him a question and received no answer that you looked up at him from the espresso machine to see him simply staring at you. “Wonwoo?” 

You saw his eyes clear as his face rapidly turned a deep shade of red. “I’m sorry, I was listening. I just-” He paused, and your brows furrowed. 

“Are you alright?” You asked, putting down the espresso shot and giving him your full focus. 

“Do you want to, maybe, go to dinner sometime?” His eyes couldn’t meet yours at first, until suddenly the dark brown of his irises met yours and you melted at the adoration you felt behind his gaze. 

“Wonwoo, are you asking me on a date?” You couldn’t believe this was happening. You watched his cheeks redden further as he nodded and you couldn’t help the way you seemed to beam at him. “I’d like that very much. Maybe this Saturday, if you’re free?” 

You watched the anxiety leave his body in an instant as he agreed. He handed you his phone as he stood up, coffee cup and plate now empty. “Put your number in and I’ll call you?” 

You punched your contact information in and handed him the phone in exchange for his dishes, and watched as he clumsily pushed in his seat and grabbed his things. “Have a good day at work, Wonwoo. It was nice to see you.” 

“It was good to see you. I’ll call you later tonight, if that’s okay.” You nodded and if he smiled any wider, he thought his lips might start to crack. With one last goodbye, he left out the door, and his eyes didn’t leave your beautiful face through the window until he lost line of sight.

[ms-wwe]

CHAPTER 2 (Pt. 2) DAMIAN PRIEST X OC (RIGHTEOUS DESIRES: LOVE AND REDEMPTION IN THE RING)

“I know you were very reluctant to do this” She begins. “And I am so thankful that you chose to trust me to do this. As I’ve told you over the phone, hearing a small portion of your story was so compelling, and I feel that you deserve the chance to tell your truth in its entirety. With that being said, please do not hesitate to decline to comment, or to completely end the interview. I can only imagine how difficult this may be for you, and I want you to know it’s totally fine to stop and revisit, that’s why I allotted at least 3 interview days to meet in case you needed time to process or to just give your emotions a break” She tells me in her warm tone. Truth be told, I was thankful for the reassurance. I knew I trusted her, and that she wouldn’t pry for information I may not be ready to share. “ I really appreciate that” I say as I look down at my mug, trying to hold back the tears I feel swelling in my eyes. “I’m going to start my recorder now, are you ready?” She asks while holding the small recorder in her left hand. I sigh and nod in response. This was it, this was happening, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. “Where do you want me to start?” I ask her. “Let’s start from the beginning” I pull my right leg into my small chair, hugging my knee close to my torso, hoping it’ll bring me back down to earth and make my heart stop attempting to escape my chest. “I started in the WWE when I was sixteen” I say flatly. Cassie shakes her head with a small giggle. “No honey, I mean the very beginning. Start with your childhood. I want to go back to the very start of you, I want to know every facet there is of you. I want to know about Riot, not just Riot Hardy the wrestler, but Riot the woman.” She says in a reassuring tone. I close my eyes and take in a slow breath. I could do this, I owed it to myself to do this. I just needed to think of this as a casual conversation with someone. “My name is Riot Hardy, I’m a Virgo, my middle name is Elizabeth, I drink mass amounts of caffeine, I recently moved Orlando to be with my boyfriend Luis, Or Damian Priest if you know him by his ring name, we’ve been together officially since April of this year, I just turned thirty-four, my birthday is the day before my dad’s, and I’m not gonna lie, I miss living in small town North Carolina” I spill out like I’m gasping for air. Cassie is writing down notes as she speaks. “Tell me a little bit about your dads, I’m interested to know more about what the dynamic was like growing up” I smile as I think of my dads and what the early years of my life were like, how it felt being a small girl raised by three men, sometimes I felt it was a miracle I didn’t turn out to be gay. “We had an interesting dynamic in this house for sure” I say with a smile. “My dad had me when he was only sixteen. My mother wasn’t in the picture ever. She was significantly older when she was fooling around with my dad, she already had two other children that she’d given up for adoption, why she chose to give me to my dad, I have no idea, but I’m thankful everyday. In my really early years my grandfather took on more of the fatherly role around here. My dads were already chasing their wrestling dreams hard and heavy even back then, so my grandfather did his best to help my dad manage being a father and achieving his goals.” I continue as I sip my coffee. “Your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man. Was your grandmother involved? You’re quite close with your uncle, what was it like with him growing up?” She asks as she scribbles more notes down on the pages of her notebook. “My grandfather was the most selfless person you’d ever meet. He passed a few years ago and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered from that” I trail off as the heartache of my grandfather being gone sets in all over again.

[azzie-beastbinder]

The Truth in the Lies

Satoru blearily blinked a few times as he woke up from his impromptu nap, realizing how much pain he was in. He sat up in his chair and grabbed his abandoned datapad again. He had spent the entire early morning – and the afternoon following it – digging into old oni lore in the Sokenzan mountains, which had accidentally tangented off into its current status, which was tracing the Hayashi family themselves. It was a lot harder than when he traced his own lineage back to Toshiro Umezawa, because the Hayashis had seemingly come from nowhere with Ichiro Hayashi’s sudden appearance in the Imperial Court.

Satoru stopped scrolling on his datapad and blinked a few times as that thought finally hit him. “Where did they come from...?” he mumbled. He reached for his cup and was disappointed to find that he had already finished off his coffee, probably before he fell asleep. He sighed stood up slowly, and stretched, grimacing when he heard his back and shoulders pop.

As open as his office in this safehouse was, it felt stifling all of a sudden. He pulled his hair back into the tight bun he usually kept it in, grabbed the datapad to keep searching and the empty mug, and headed out into the hall to refill his coffee from the machine.

The healers had worked all through the day to help the Hyozans that Koda and Vasro had rescued. Now, as the sun set but Towashi became no less bright, the Reckoners were able to return to their homes or bases. This left the safehouse relatively empty, with only Thistlefur, Nari, and Satoru present. Thistlefur had gone for a nap after ensuring that everyone was patched up, Nari was meditating, and Satoru was going to drink enough caffeine to either die instantly or ascend to godhood, whichever came first.

Another pot of coffee was put on, and Satoru leaned back against the counter to keep scrolling through information on his datapad. The bloodlines of Imperial Court nobles were often public record, because they made such a big deal out of it. But no matter where he dug – legally or illegally – he couldn’t find anything about the Hayashi family before Ichiro Hayashi’s rise to prominence and his marriage to Yuna Suzuki during the reign of the previous Emperor. He narrowed his eyes. “Noble families don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

“You’ve got that right.” Satoru didn’t even flinch when Nari came over to lean against the counter next to him. “But what’s got you digging into noble families at this hour?”

“Hayashi asked me to look into oni in the Sokenzan mountains after he and another planeswalker freed our Reckoners,” Satoru summarized, “and then I got distracted. His grandparents were the biggest supporters of legislation stripping us of rights, but where the hell did they even come from? How did Ichiro rise to prominence so quickly that the Suzuki family were willing to let their only child marry a stranger?”

Nari frowned and leaned in a bit to look at Satoru’s datapad as well. “...The previous Emperor,” she suddenly said. “Because no one is permitted to know their name, they have blood work done when they’re first chosen, right? So it can be regularly confirmed that they’re the right person?”

Satoru raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going with this, Nari?”

“Call it a hunch.” Nari plucked Satoru’s datapad from his hands and began her own search, getting them into databases that even Imperials weren’t allowed into.

Satoru sighed and turned to the coffee pot when it was done, pouring more into his cup and getting a second cup for Nari. “A hunch, or a hint from Azamuki?”

“It doesn’t share information without a bit of my life in return, Umezawa. You know this,” Nari replied calmly. Satoru did, in fact, know that – it was hard not to, with the dying grey of Nari’s skin, the way her eyes were blurred and unfocused, and the black smoke that followed her like snakes. Azamuki, the Kami of Treachery Incarnate, had made a deal with Nari – it would possess her, and in return, she would gain visions of things to come. Each kami channeler, Satoru had learned, handled their deals with a kami differently, often in ways completely separate from the deeper bond that Koda shared with Haruko, the Kami of Restless Shadows.

Satoru waited a bit longer to take a sip of his coffee than he had much earlier in the morning. He had no idea how late in the evening it was – it wasn’t like checking the time was high priority for him – but he was glad that most of the gang never got the chance to see the mess behind the scenes. It was difficult enough maintaining the facade of being untouchable after getting shot during the heist in Thunder Junction.

Oko could absolutely go fuck himself.

Satoru rubbed his shoulder and tried not to focus on the series of troubles that had started with the Phyrexian invasion until now. At least Satoru hadn’t fought alone during it, having found himself teaming up with an akki by the name of Goro-Goro. But still, the losses the Hyozans had suffered had made it more difficult to keep the renewed number of Imperial enforcers out of their turf.

Nari elbowed him roughly in the ribs all of a sudden. Satoru exhaled sharply and glared at her, but before he could demand an explanation, Nari shoved his datapad back into his free hand. “Boss. Look at this.” Her tone was a lot more firm and edged than it ever was when she spoke to him.

He set down his coffee to better scroll through the datapad. Nari had brought up two files – one of the previous Emperor’s yearly checkups when he had still been alive, and a much more recent yearly checkup for Ichiro Hayashi, because of course the rich bastard could afford that. Satoru’s eyes scanned them both, slowly widening when he saw how many similarities there were, including the same exact percentile risks for the same diseases.

“They were brothers,” he breathed. “The previous Emperor bonded with Kyodai-”

“-And raised his brother to noble status and riches, even though the Emperor is meant to have all ties to their family severed to prevent nepotism and corruption,” Nari finished. “And together, they rallied for legislature that would reduce Kamigawa’s people to non-citizens. So when Ichiro found out the Dokuchi Reckoners were behind the previous Emperor’s murder...”

Satoru’s heart went still in his chest. “He had his own daughter killed in retaliation.” Ayame Hayashi – Ichiro and Yuna’s daughter, Koda’s mother, Satoru’s mentor, and the lover of an oni who Satoru still needed to find out the identity of. “I need to tell Koda. Now.” But how? Koda was on another plane, and Satoru had no idea if any of the Dokuchi Reckoners had been informed of the overall hunt, or if he would even be able to find any of them that could contact Koda, or even if the planeswalker would be waiting for him in his office-

His office.

Satoru nodded his thanks to Nari and promptly walked back to his office, trying to control his nerves. He opened the door and made sure it was shut behind him before he sat back down at his desk. If he were right about what little he knew about New Capenna, then Vasro was a member of the Obscura. Which meant his office was under surveillance, though he didn’t know where the thing was for sure.

He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. “Vasro,” he began. “I know you can get this message to Koda. Tell him that the Hayashi side of his family is more tied up in his gang’s history than he thought. The previous Emperor, the one that Lethaltooth and Silentsign killed, was his grand uncle. Ayame’s murder was a vengeance kill because of the assassination.”

Satoru didn’t get an answer. He didn’t expect to. But he sighed and made sure to take screenshots of the information he had seen, just in case it “mysteriously vanished”. He still needed to make headway on the identity of Koda’s oni father, but he knew, deep in his bones, that there would very shortly be only one Hayashi left alive.

And he would do anything to make sure it was Koda Hayashi.

[maochira]

idk if you’ve done this already but bllk dads staying up with their kid because reader has insomnia :)

Writing this rn because I know I’m gonna pull an all-nighter tonight 🏃‍♀️ (going on an 8 hour car ride to Italy at 3am(around the time when this posts))

Characters: Ego, Noa, Lavinho

Requests open! - masterlist

Tags: gn!reader, reader is a teenager, reader has insomnia

Ego

-does this guy ever sleep in the first place? No (I know he does. He has the type of sleep schedule where he sleeps for 4 hours, gets up, sleeps for 2 hours again, gets up again and sleeps for 2 hours another time

-but anyways the point is, even without your insomnia he’d be awake most of the night

-Ego lets you stay in his office and rewatches recordings of Blue Lock matches with you. They’re either exciting and entertain you when you can’t fall asleep, or they’re so boring you fall asleep in your chair after one or two hours. No in-between

-surprisingly, your father has enough strength in his body to carry you to your room so you can safely sleep in your bed instead of on the uncomfortable desk chair

-if you still can’t fall asleep, you and Ego also spend a lot of time talking about anything that’s on your mind. Sometimes it’s thousands of thoughts running through your head that won’t let you fall asleep, so Ego let’s you talk about what’s on your mind

-it’s also very good bonding time for the both of you. It may not be under the most optimal circumstances but hey, at least you get to spend time with your father

Noa

-he may be tired and just wants to get to bed on most nights, but he always stays awake as long as he can with you. He knows you feel lonely late at night and that can cause bad thoughts to come up in your head when you can’t fall asleep. And to prevent that, your father stays awake with you

-most nights like this are spent sitting in the living room with a random movie on the TV while you and Noa just talk and talk until you get tired

-he always makes your favourite tea, hot choccy, warm milk, or whatever other (non-caffeinated) warm beverage you’re craving

-occasionally, Noa falls asleep on the couch and you always wonder if you should wake him up or let him continue sleeping. Usually you don’t wake him up because you know how tired your father is most of the time

-but sometimes, he wakes up by himself after like 10 minutes and he keeps apologizing. He feels guilty because he doesn’t like leaving you alone when he knows negative thoughts could flood your brain at any moment

-that’s why he also made you promise to immediately wake him up whenever that happens

Lavinho

-he doesn’t mind staying up longer at all. This guy could get 5 minutes of sleep and would be as energized as he always is

-when you can’t sleep, you and your dad play video games together!! Usually competitive ones like Mario Kart but sometimes ones for which you have work together like Stardew Valley

-it’s also the perfect chance to catch up and talk about stuff when you have busy weeks during which you barely see each other during daytime

-but because of your insomnia Lavinho does forbid you to drink anything that has caffeine in it. Cola, energy drinks and coffee are completely banned from the house. Yes, he doesn’t drink it anymore either because if you can’t, he won’t either

Taglist (sign-up link): @kaineedstherapy12 @luvcalico @truegoist @st4rcheese @acacIa @kermitslefteyeball11 @futuristicxie @bluelock4life @blueberrryui @https-archangel @userwithlotsoftime @chaosinanutshell @mang05 @arxliana @zyuuuu @vanitasbrainrot @toruden @mafuyudonutt @weichspuelertrinker @depressed-bitchy-demon @kaiserkisser @yellowelectroslime @0rah-s @yerinsshi @slowlyholypeanut @isagikisser

[sunshine-gumdrop]

TO START A SIDE BUSINESS

TO HAVE A POST-NHL CAREER IN BROADCASTING

TO BE A COOL PARENT

TO HAVE A PODCAST

The Grind

The coffee shop is fucking packed.

Nathan leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching his staff scramble behind the espresso machines. He swore he hired competent people, but Jesus Christ, did they forget how to steam milk?

"Order for Jake!" one of the baristas yells, and some teenager grabs his latte without looking up from his phone.

Nathan rubs a hand over his face. "This was a mistake."

From across the shop, sitting with a laptop and a decaf—because pregnant—Sidney snorts. "No shit."

Nathan shoots her a glare, but she just smirks, stirring the foam on her useless, caffeine-free drink. "You wanted this," she reminds him. "You said, ‘I think it’d be nice to have something outside of hockey, something that feels like mine.’ And I said, ‘You’re gonna hate it,’ and now look at you. Absolutely hating it."

Nathan groans, grabbing the rag from the counter and wiping at a perfectly clean spot. "You’re a real supportive wife, you know that?"

Sid shrugs. "I told you to open a bar instead."

"A bar? With your dumb ass pregnant?" Nathan scoffs. "Great idea, Sid."

Sidney flips him off, but before she can say anything, their three-year-old daughter, Elle, hops up onto the chair next to her.

"Mommy, why does Daddy look mad?"

Nathan sighs, leaning on the counter. "Because people are fucking stupid, honey."

Sid glares at him. "Nathan."

"What? It’s true."

Elle giggles, kicking her legs. "Daddy said a bad word."

"Yeah, Daddy says lots of bad words." Sid reaches over, ruffling Elle’s hair. "Let’s make a deal. If he says another one, you get a cookie."

Nathan huffs. "I’m literally right here."

Elle claps her hands, beaming. "Yay!"

Nathan mutters something under his breath before grabbing a fresh coffee from behind the counter and setting it in front of Sid. "You need this."

Sid eyes it suspiciously. "You know I can’t have caffeine."

Nathan rolls his eyes. "It’s a fucking placebo, Sid. Just pretend."

Sidney groans dramatically, but she takes a sip anyway, closing her eyes and sighing like it’s saving her life. Nathan smirks.

"And this is why you need me," he says smugly.

Sidney doesn’t argue.

Podcast Time

Later that night, once Elle is asleep and Nathan has convinced himself that the coffee shop will probably survive another day without him, they sit in their home studio—which is really just the guest room with some soundproof foam slapped on the walls—and start recording.

Sid stretches her legs out, resting her feet on Nathan’s lap. He glares at them like they personally offended him.

"Jesus, Sid, your feet are swollen as fuck."

Sidney snorts. "No shit, Nate. I’m pregnant."

"Yeah, but like…" He nudges one with a finger. "They look like fucking balloons."

"Okay, first of all? Rude. Second? Maybe if you rubbed them instead of insulting them, I wouldn’t have to prop them up on you like this."

Nathan grumbles, but he starts rubbing her foot anyway.

Sidney hums in satisfaction, adjusting the mic in front of her. "Alright, let’s start. What’s the topic?"

Nathan shrugs. "Shit we suck at."

Sid laughs. "So, what, a two-hour special?"

"Shut the fuck up, Sid."

Sidney grins, then leans in. "Okay. Here’s one. Parenting."

Nathan blinks. "You think we suck at parenting?"

"I think you suck at parenting."

"Wow. Thanks."

Sidney snickers. "Okay, fine, you don’t suck, but let’s be real—you gave Elle a double espresso shot last week."

Nathan throws his hands up. "I thought it was hot chocolate!"

"It smelled like coffee, dumbass."

Nathan groans, dragging a hand down his face. "She was fine."

"She climbed the fucking curtains, Nate."

Nathan sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll take the L on that one."

Sidney grins, smug as hell. "Damn right you will."

Nathan rolls his eyes. "Alright. Your turn. What do you suck at?"

Sid pauses, thinking. Then she shrugs. "Balancing work and home life."

Nathan raises an eyebrow. "Bullshit. You’re literally killing it as a broadcaster and being a mom. You’re doing both better than most people do one."

Sidney’s throat tightens a little, but she just waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah. But I’m gone a lot. And with the new baby coming—"

Nathan cuts her off. "Sid. You’re great. Elle adores you. And this little guy—" He rests a hand on her stomach, rubbing absentmindedly. "—is gonna have the best mom ever. So shut the fuck up."

Sid looks at him for a moment, then snorts. "So shut the fuck up—Jesus, you’re so romantic."

Nathan smirks. "That’s why you married me."

Sidney hums, pretending to consider. "Mmm. That and because you look hot when you’re mad."

Nathan groans. "Fuck off, Sid."

Sidney laughs, tilting her head toward the mic. "And that’s all for today, folks! Tune in next week to hear Nate rant about something completely unimportant!"

Nathan flips her off.

Sid grins.

It’s a good life.

[writtenonreceipts]

Even More Random Prompts

Some may be similar to each other, I tried to play off of the prompts to create more of the same vein.  Shrugs maybe not the best list, but I think it’s fun. Please do not repost. Reblogs welcome.

find other prompts here

I can explain.  This isn’t as bad as it looks.

Sometimes bad decisions are the only ones we’ve got.

Rise and shine, it’s time for the worst day of your life.

I’ll bring the vodka, you bring the bad decisions.

Well, no one told me that.

No, we are not keeping the cat.

It’s too early for this.

Is that coffee?

It’s five in the morning, did you expect a warm welcome?

Sorry, all I can provide is sarcasm.

Look at that dog.  We need  it.

You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I promise, that was an accident.

Is that a flip phone?

I’m being crafty, shut-up.

There is no such thing as too much glitter.

I have a glue gun and I’m not afraid to use it.

Give me all the dogs, I don’t care.

I need a blowtorch, a roll of duct tape, and marshmallows.

Let’s go on an adventure.

Please tell me you know how to change a tire.

Is that band-aid pink? // With unicorns. // That’ll do.

Wake up asshat, we’ve got crimes to do.

How do you manage to trip over everything?

Here, let me help.

Don’t worry, it’s going to be alright.

Didn’t you meet them on the internet?

Your cat is a judgmental bitch.

I can’t even keep a goldfish alive, how can I handle this?

Let’s make some mistakes.

How about a drink? // Of alcohol or rat poison?

Under no circumstances are you to talk about politics, religion, or your favorite ice cream flavor.

We are in the trenches of a family reunion--survival is the only thing that matters.

Whoever said ignorance is bliss never had anxiety.

What do you mean you don’t know how to ride a bike?

For the record, I totally would have helped with that.

Why would anyone live here?

Have a sticker for your troubles.

Don’t call me that.

You’ve got something on your face.

Can you zip this for me?

What are you wearing?

I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.

Fine then, I won’t say anything.

That was a wonderful accident.

It’s Monday.  Again.

Time is funny like that, it really likes screwing me over.

They’re an artist without a canvas

That’s a lot of caffeine.

Well, that’s a little disturbing.

How much have you had to drink?

I only have one love, and that is mozzarella sticks.

So, where were you planning on getting the tattoo?

I thought you hate needles. // Yes, but I like spiting my family more, I’m getting the damn tattoo

You need me more than you hate me.

A lot of people want to kill me.  I am very proud of that.

This is the worst day of my life.

C’mon, it’s just family dinner, how bad could it be?

Please don’t kill me, I have a good reason for this.

Care to explain the glitter lotion?

I supported the entire self tanning industry when I was a teen.

I don’t trust myself with this information.

Why do you always choose violence?

My car, my rules. We’re listening to Nickleback whether you like it or not.

Yeah, the vase of dead roses really says a lot.

That’s not a cat that’s a skunk.

I brought your favorite ice cream.

Well you're about as delightful as a kidney stone.

Who the hell are you?

What do you want from me?

Hold on, I’ve got handcuffs in my purse.

Ugh, why are you covered in cheap cologne?

I’m not wearing the right shoes for this.

I’m not the one who paid three hundred dollars for a shirt.

I wanted to buy you flowers.

When a child hands you a rock, you have to accept it.

I’m sorry and I’ll never stop apologizing.

I miss you.

Wait for me, I’ll be home soon.

Are you sure about this?

Please? I brought pizza.

I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you.

Wait.  Please, don’t go?

I just hope you can forgive me.

And they say dropping out of college is a bad thing

Can your fancy degree do this?

I was only arrested one time…The second I got off on a technicality

I cry at any hint of affection

Don’t judge them, they’re just really, really hungry

Is that a clown?

Why is there a llama in the yard?

I know how this looks, but it was not my fault.

Therapy’s too expensive, eat some chocolate.

Would I really lie to you? // Yes.

The last time I trusted you you killed my succulent plant.

How much caffeine have I had?--I’d rather not answer that.

Stabbing people is not a proper expression of emotion.

That was not what I was expecting to happen.

Sorry, I just need seventy years to recover from the embarrassment.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Forgetting Something?

Post canon AU

---

Mickey maneuvered around his husband, who was moving around in the apartment like a whirlwind that morning. Ian was on edge, had been since the other day; today was his first day back as an EMT. It’d taken a lot of talk, lotta promises for him to get his old job back. Mickey had no fucking idea what Ian did to convince them all, especially considering the felony on his record. Whatever. He was damn proud of him. 

Even if that meant he was awake alongside his husband. Iggy didn’t need him ‘till closer to eleven, so he would’ve been sleeping soundly if not for Ian making too much fucking noise while getting himself ready. 

“You got time for a cup of coffee before you leave?” Mickey was already drinking out of his mug, leaning against the counter. He’d need a fuckton of caffeine to get through the rest of today, although he’d probably try to go back to bed once Ian left. There’d be enough time for that, although if that guy from next door kept dropping his weights on the floor while he weight lifted then he was going to find himself with his arms fucking snapped in half real quick. 

“I can’t,” Ian said distractedly, weaving in and out of their bedroom to the bathroom, a toothbrush in the corner of his mouth muffled his words. 

“You eat something?” The can’t take your meds on an empty stomach went unsaid. 

He heard Ian spit into the sink, turning the faucet on. “Already did while your ass was sleeping. Took my meds too.” 

“Alright.” Now that he paid attention, Mickey spotted the box of waffles thrown into the trash. “Yo, what do you want for dinner? We’ll celebrate after you get off.” 

“I don’t know. Pizza, maybe?” 

“Fine, but no fucking pineapple,” Mickey scowled. “I ain’t eating that shit.” 

“Then get your own fucking pizza,” Ian said, coming out all dressed in his uniform. Mickey’s eyes swept down his body appreciatively. The fucker looked hot as hell, and those black pants-

Ass-O’clock in the morning and he had a boner. 

Mickey took another drink, a smile tugging on his lips. Ian wasn’t aware of his staring, too busy straightening his jacket. “You nervous?” 

Ian stopped messing with his jacket, meeting Mickey’s eyes fleetingly. “A little.” 

“Don’t be.” 

“I can’t help it, Mick,” Ian let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “Rita told me this is my last chance. I don’t want to screw it up.” 

“And you won’t,” Mickey assured him with confidence. “You’ll do fine, Red.” 

“You think so?” Ian said, exhaling. 

“Course I do. I-” He rubbed his eyebrow, “-believe in you and all that shit, okay? Go kick some ass.” 

Ian grinned, his eyes widening when he spared a glance at the stove. “Fuck. I have to go.” 

He snatched up all his stuff, including the cheap lunchbox he’d bought and was on his way out the door when Mickey called out to him, making him pause. 

“Aye, Sugar Tits! Forgetting something?” 

Ian turned right around, realization crossing his face. He smiled apologetically, leaning in to kiss him sweetly, one hand on the back of his neck. 

“Sorry. Love you. See you later!” 

Mickey couldn’t stop the flush creeping up his face, coughing lightly. “Wasn’t what I was referring to.” 

His husband’s eyebrows furrowed. 

Mickey held out his hand, showing Ian the keys he’d almost forgotten. “You left these on the counter.” 

[iffeelscouldkill]

Fic: the old stars are of no importance

Summary: In which RJ McCabe has more emotions about listening to a drunken group singalong than they'd expected. Set during season 1 episodes 9 & 10 and the aftermath of episode 10.

Also posted to Dreamwidth & AO3, or just keep reading for the fic!

---

Junior Agent RJ McCabe is having a terrible day.

A terrible week, actually. Or make that a terrible career.

RJ is no stranger to hard work – no-one can power through the Academy and get a Junior Agent role at twenty-three without working incredibly hard. But since Park was tak- since Park was rightfully apprehended, it’s not felt like hard work so much as desperately paddling to keep their head above water. All the weird stares, the muttering, the pointed questions from their superiors that RJ answers as honestly as possible while frantically analysing the words for anything that could reflect negatively on them.

They go from urgent briefing to the office to one-on-one report with the Major General to another briefing to the office to home, finally, though they��re barely sleeping. RJ is pretty sure their blood volume is 95% caffeine, lately – thankfully the IGR doesn’t test for that.

In recognition of the awfulness of break room coffee, they brew it at home and bring a big flask with them. Or they would, except that this morning they tiredly fumbled the pot while pouring and scalded their hand, causing them to flinch and drop it, splattering half of the coffee across their tiny kitchen floor. They lost ten minutes to the clean-up and they have half as much coffee as they need, damn it.

All of which is to say that they’re not in the mood for Junior Agent Goodman’s attitude.

“Twelve hours of nothing?” RJ repeats as they stare down at Goodman, whose normal mask of impassiveness has given way to annoyance. He looks tired, but RJ is no stranger to all-nighters, and Goodman shouldn’t be either if he wants to get anywhere in the Republic.

“The crew was mostly asleep for part of it,” Goodman responds. “Is there coffee?”

“It’s dreck,” RJ says. They’re wondering if padding out their stock of coffee with the break room sludge will result in halfway drinkable coffee. It will probably just taint the decent stuff.

“Yes, because I drink break room coffee for the delicate aroma,” Goodman says, his sarcasm acidic, and RJ’s patience snaps.

“I don’t want to write you up for insubordination—”

They listen to Goodman’s rationale for throwing away a full twelve hours of audio, interjecting with pointed questions. When Goodman says, “Trust me,” they almost snort. Trust Goodman. Trust Goodman after his leading questions about Park and his poorly-hidden recording device. After RJ had confronted him about the recording, he’d simply smiled and said, “You can’t be too careful.”

RJ is just taking his advice. They hold out their hand. “Hand me the headphones.”

The audio picks up mid-conversation, and at first it sounds like so much nonsensical rambling, until RJ is able to pick up the thread of what the insurgents are talking about. Edict 1837. Any confession by a known criminal needs to be transcribed, analysed, and examined for veracity – no matter what the contents.

RJ has to suppress a smirk when they realise what Goodman has been dealing with all night. For once, they’re glad they’re the ranking Agent.

They’re tempted to skip over it, but they can at least listen to the entirety of the group’s confessions. Patel and Tripathi’s knowledge of Republic laws and edicts gives them the advantage in creating, if not convincing confessions, certainly detailed ones. Jeeter’s is less elaborate, but would require a qualified Ancient Pre-Crisis Languages expert to verify. The Dwarnian Krejjh’s ‘confession’ is a pure flight of fantasy – no-one rational has believed Dwarnians can shapeshift since at least 2175.

As for Violet Liu – RJ would have expected her to choose a confession oriented towards her history as a Republic scientist. “The lead singer of Birdie and the Swansong” is just silly.

Their finger hovers over the fast forward button as Patel drunkenly challenges Liu to “prove it”.

And then –

Violet Liu starts to sing.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on...”

RJ has heard Violet sing before, during 'Report 1: Violet Liu', but there's something startling about hearing her suddenly strike out into song, a little unsteady but clear and melodious.

The note hangs there for an uncertain few seconds before Patel takes up the next line.

“But it’s not the sea that’s coming for me-”

And then Liu joins back in-

“-and it’s not the storm, no, it’s not the storm…”

Tripathi starts playing a guitar – they’ve heard her idly strumming it in her room during downtime – and suddenly they’re all singing.

“When I go to sea, don’t fear for me,

“Fear for the storm, fear for the storm!”

RJ squints in confusion, forehead creasing. What are they all doing? Is this a taunt? Because they know they’re being listened to? Why else would the whole crew be sitting around singing like they don’t have a care?

(Fleetingly, RJ wonders what it would be like to have that level of comfort with a group. An image of Nan and Ferdy flashes across their mind’s eye before they quickly squash it. They’re getting distracted).

“So gather your charts and your portents,

“Throw them aside,

“The old stars are of no importance,

“They’re not what I navigate by...”

In hours of monitoring, RJ has never heard the crew sing together, yet they harmonise seamlessly like they’ve done it a hundred times.

The words are – nonsensical, just old-world seafaring imagery of seas and charts and stars. But the way the group sings gives them an energy; makes them important. Like they might be the last thing you’ll ever hear.

“Though I may burn, the heavens may learn to fear for the storm...

“Fear for the storm.”

Liu sings the final lines, and then Krejjh exclaims, delighted,

“Oops – I guess we’re all Birdy and the Swansong. What a coincidence!”

The whole group bursts into laughter, and RJ’s finger stabs angrily down on the fast forward button.

“Don’t tell me it’s all like this.”

They pretend not to see Agent Goodman rolling his eyes.

---

The rest of the day blurs past, the usual chain of reports, audio, meetings, exchanging terse words with Goodman (who’s even more sarcastic thanks to his all-nighter), more reports, more audio.

They dismiss Goodman at the end of the workday, even though overtime is the norm in the Republic to the point where the ‘workday’ doesn’t really have a beginning and an end. (This was less depressing to RJ when they thought the agents were all getting overtime pay). He quickly goes, obviously not wanting to wait around for them to change their mind.

Silence descends.

RJ mechanically fills in a few more forms, initials some reports, getting caught up on the endless paperwork that’s generated by active cases. The Rumor audio isn’t being logged as it’s coming in; last night was an exceptional case in the aftermath of the insurgents making contact with the other Violet Liu, but based on the subsequent twelve hours of audio and today’s similar experience, they’ve determined it’s a more prudent use of resources to analyse it after the fact.

So, there’s no reason for RJ to be going over to the bank of audio desks and slipping on a pair of headphones. An audio file has just come in, but RJ pulls up an older file and scrubs through it, looking for the right timestamp.

They’re just double-checking Goodman’s work – making sure nothing was omitted when investigating the insurgents’ confessions under Edict 1837. A missed detail could give rise to a lot of additional paperwork, and their department can’t afford another blot on its track record. They pull an empty notepad towards them and poise a pen over it, ready to take notes.

But the notepad stays blank throughout the confessions, and then the singing begins.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on…”

Maybe the lyrics could be – could contain some kind of code? RJ scrawls, The old stars are of no importance, and then just as quickly scratches it out. Code for who? That wouldn’t make any sense. The words don’t mean anything.

“So gather your charts and your portents,

“Throw them aside...”

RJ has never been one for music or singing (especially in public); they always shrugged Nan off when she tried to cajole them into karaoke. At the Academy, they’d sat on the sidelines during that kind of drunken, raucous group bonding, nursing one drink and wishing they could be literally anywhere else. Eventually, they’d started making excuses about work to catch up on.

Listening to the Rumor crew sing should sound like that – the kind of alcohol-fuelled stupidity that RJ has never wanted to be a part of.

It shouldn’t sound like –

Like family.

“Though I may burn, the heavens may learn to fear for the storm…”

The song ends, and RJ quickly hits ‘stop’. Almost guiltily, they navigate back through the audio to where the beginning of the song would be.

Distant footsteps sound in the corridor, and RJ goes very still, listening. Clark went home hours ago, so it’s not her.

They refuse to look around furtively, because that would be childish and also, they’re not doing anything wrong. They’re just doing their job.

RJ hits ‘play’ again.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn…”

---

Chaos reigns as RJ, Park, Liu, Patel and Krejjh dash towards the window where Tripathi hovers with the heisted spaceship. The Vre Chel Noke nanoswarm, which had been a thick, shimmering mist around them seconds ago, hovers ominously like a warning.

It’s enough to keep Goodman and the other guards from trying to retaliate as Tripathi begins helping each of them into the open spaceship door. (RJ was tempted to take a potshot at Goodman in the chaos, but they told themself they’re better than that. Also, they didn’t want to waste any time). RJ is keeping their eyes fixed on Park, deliberately not thinking about what they’re doing, just thinking about the next moment. Stay alive. Get out of here. And then – we’ll see.

As Tripathi holds out her hand to RJ, though, they can’t resist a last glance behind them at everything they’re leaving behind. They thought this building would be the site of a long and (hopefully) distinguished career; it was practically their home, their life – until recently.

A line bubbles up in their mind, and RJ stifles the absurd urge to laugh. The old stars are of no importance – They’re not what I navigate by…

RJ turns away and accepts Tripathi’s hand up into the ship.

---

All things considered, it’s not surprising that only a few hours after joining the crew, RJ finds themself in the middle of a group singalong.

The mood is a mixture of tense and exhilarated in the immediate aftermath of their getaway. Everyone is visibly exhausted, Park possibly most of all, but it’s clear they’re all too wired to sleep or rest. They wander around the new ship, acquainting themselves with the layout and the rooms. The Rumor crew all exclaim over the size of the mess hall, which is pretty small to RJ’s eyes, but they guess anything would seem impressive compared to the homemade junk bucket the crew were flying in before.

The crew have a couple of bags stowed away, stuffed with supplies – all that’s left of the old ship. RJ thinks fleetingly of their small, bare apartment. There’s nothing they’ll miss.

Jeeter – Brian – makes some food and crucially, coffee, which is as bad as the break room dreck, but RJ will inhale anything at this point. The group chatters, their voices still surreal for RJ to hear in person and not through headphones.

They glance at Park, who looks more relaxed than they’ve ever seen him. The Rumor crew are sharing details about what happened to each of them during ‘The Plan’; Park volunteers a little about his own part, though there’s a conspicuous lack of detail about anything related to Zone Z. Sometimes the conversation falls awkwardly silent when the subject comes up. RJ isn’t about to push, and can tell the others don’t want to, either.

Trip- Sana and Krejjh determine it’s safe to set the new ship to autopilot, and Krejjh comes into the mess, intensifying the noise and cheerfulness. RJ tries not to stare; they’ve never been in close quarters with a Dwarnian (well, before shooting Krejjh earlier) and have only ever seen them in Republic training footage and, uh, Sh’th Hremreh. But Krejjh seems to find them fascinating, too, gamely questioning them about their ‘sharpshooting’ skills. Apparently sparing their life carries more weight than shooting them in the leg.

Eventually, Krejjh’s attention turns to their fiancé and the wider group, and RJ, no longer observed, lets their shoulders slump. They’ve drained the last of their coffee and want to ask for more, even though they’re practically vibrating. Adrenaline has carried them this far, and they don’t want to find out what happens when they crash and the reality of what they’ve done hits them. Part of RJ feels like they left their body back at Headquarters; or like they’re about to blink and wake up in their office chair with Goodman glaring at them.

“You okay?” Park asks in an undertone, and RJ jolts, upsetting their thankfully empty cup. They open their mouth to reply, but then Sana calls, “Okay, everyone!”

She’s holding a guitar, and RJ stares, wondering how much space that must have taken up in the supply bags. Arkady groans, but she doesn’t look angry. Violet covers her mouth in amusement, and Krejjh cheers.

“I thought we could christen our new ship with a bit of a song,” Sana says earnestly (RJ is learning that ‘earnest’ is Sana’s default mode). Park’s eyes widen, which makes RJ glad that they’re not the only one experiencing slight panic. Is it too late to sneak out? Sana plucks at the guitar strings, twiddling the pegs to tune them. She strums a chord and nods, satisfied.

“What shall we start with? Any suggestions?” Her gaze alights on Park and RJ, and she smiles encouragingly. “McCabe – do you want to suggest a song? You don’t have to sing if you’re not comfortable.”

“Uh…” RJ would like to suggest something less – incriminating, but unfortunately, there’s only one song currently on their mind. “What about... ‘Fear for the Storm’?”

To their relief, Sana doesn’t ask questions. “Good choice!” she says, and RJ feels, ridiculously, pleased. Park quirks an eyebrow at them after Sana looks away, but RJ just shrugs, not wanting to explain.

Sana strums a few opening chords, and Violet and Arkady begin, singing the first line together.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on...”

RJ sits back in their chair and fractionally, begins to relax, letting the singing wash over and around them.

Quietly, too quietly, to be heard beneath the singing, they hum along.

---

A/N: So the idea conception for this fic went something like this:

Me: Okay, I've got this fun idea I want to write about the real lead singer of Birdie and the Swansong listening to the Iris casefiles and reacting to the group singalong-

My brain: I have an even better version of that idea!

Me: Yes?

My brain: What if McCabe-

Me: OH MY GOD

...Go on...

I have one (1) character whose perspective I'm consistently inspired to write from and can do so at the drop of a hat xD (I was trying to write this in a few days for the Small Fandoms Surprise Scramble on Dreamwidth. I succeeded!

The idea that became this idea was sparked off by listening to the full cast version of Fear for the Storm and having some Emotions about it again :D I remember how captivated I was by this song when listening to Episode 9 for the very first time, and so the idea of giving McCabe some of those Emotions was a very appealing one. Poor thing is going through it.

This also gave me a chance to write about the immediate aftermath of Episode 10, which I had not done before!

[theriverspath]

Ineffable May 2024, Day 5: Retirement

Rated General Audience

There was more salt than pepper in Nina’s locs these days, and she was beginning to appreciate a mug of something hot less for the caffeine content and more for the soothing warmth on the overworked joints of her hands. Today, though, her hands were empty as she waved one over the small black screen installed on the wall just inside the kitchen door of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. The movement woke the alarm system’s AI and a cheerfully neutral voice addressed her.

“Hello, Nina. Leaving for the day?” The face recognition software had records of all of the shop’s employees, and was programmed to know who was due to open and close based on the work schedule. Or rather, it had been programmed with that information until about a week ago. Currently, the only person it had on file was Nina. Soon, it wouldn’t even recognize her. Her smile was a little sad as she answered the now-glowing screen.

“Yes. Lock up after I’ve left, please.”

“Sure thing! Have a good night!”

“Thanks.” Nina exited the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining area. She paused before crossing to the front door, and could almost hear the bustle of a morning rush around her. She had spent decades behind a counter, offering the people of Soho the best drinks and pastries she could muster. During that time she'd seen old friends come together to enjoy each other's company, stressed students pounding away at keyboards, couples falling in love, and families grow. There had been so much life, both hers and others, lived within these walls.

When she was finally ready to leave, Nina’s steps echoed in the empty space. The next tennant was converting the storefront into a salon, and hadn’t wanted any of the furnishings. So, Nina had sold or donated it all. She’d kept the miniature Statue of Liberty, though, and it now held pride of place on the fireplace mantle in the little flat Maggie and she had just downsized to. Everything else had gone within the last few days.

The doorknob felt so familiar in her grip, and it seemed odd to think that this would be the last time she would turn it. Turn it she did, then stepped onto the pavement and let the door close behind her. She heard the snick of the lock sliding into place and knew that the system had done its job.

“Ready?” Maggie’s voice was soft, and there was no rush or ugrency behind it. Nina took in a breath and nodded.

“All done. I just need to leave the keys with the estate agent on the way home.” She slipped her hand into her wife’s, and they began the walk that would take them past the office and to their flat. Maggie’s eyes crinkled at the corners with her smile when they passed The Small Back Room. Through the big window, she could see Tony helping a customer sort through a selection of vinyls. Nina didn’t have to hear him to know that he was expounding how you just can’t get the same sound from digital, and isn’t it amazing how physical media really connects us to music in such a tactile way. Their son had inherited Maggie’s love of the record shop, and had happily taken on the responsibility of the day-to-day running of it when she’d decided to take a step back from the business.

As they approached the estate agent’s office, Nina realized that she really didn’t feel like going in and doing the whole smile-and-shake-hands-and-small-talk ordeal that inevitably came with these sorts of interactions. Fortunately, the building had a little brass flap on the exterior for people to deposit paperwork and what-not after closing. So, she just dropped the keys in that, and heard them clank into the little box that caught them.

“I don’t feel like cooking tonight. How about we pick something up?” The two women took their time strolling down the busy street, discussing the merits of the various restaurants between here and their flat. The air was cool, but not quite cold enough to make them want to quicken their pace. They eventually settled on a new Italian place and, once home, enjoyed the steaming containers of pasta in front of a warm, crackling fire.

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